The Colour Grey
by AlissonLoon
Summary: Born and raised to follow the Pureblood agenda, Blanche abandons her roots and chooses her own path. Alongside Sirius Black, she comes to learn true family is not that which life gives you, but that which you find for yourself. She encounters perilous risks, painful heartbreak, unfailing love, and honest grit as the world of black, white, and grey unfolds around her.
1. Prologue

**Updated again 30/4/19.**

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 **19/12/18 Message:**

 **Hello all! I just want to let everyone know I'm editing these chapters which are up now... just to correct grammar and that. This story has actually come back to be my biggest piece so far! I'm at already 100,000+ words (not here but on my own document) and so, essentially, just want you all to know that this story is CERTAINLY not dead! There is _SO MUCH_ more to come!**

 **Chapter 9 will be up very shortly. I've just got to temporarily go back to America, but there I will do a lot of work updating and writing, so don't worry! I'd also like to beg for your guys' thoughts and comments on the story. More than favourites and follows, those are what keep me going. So let me know how you feel about it!**

 **Best always,**

 **Alisson**

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 **7/6/17 Message:**

 **Readers: I hope you enjoy this little bit I've been working on recently. I first want to apologise in advance for Potter-world inaccuracies; I do not claim to be greatest fan, but I do try my best. Anyway, Sirius is one of my favourite characters from the series and I really wanted to explore his time with the Marauders, his time in the Order, his imprisonment, his escape, and his time after Azkaban. I will most definitely be playing with the timeline in this fic, so don't assault me when your see timeline errors. Seeing I'm not the most devout of writers, I'm not sure how far I'll be going with this story, but I do hope I get all the way to the Second Wizarding War. I can't make any promises and I openly admit to being a volatile and inconstant writer, but I do try my best for you all.**

 **This is the prologue of this fic, and it pretty much gives you a look inside Blanche's (my OC) First through Fifth years at Hogwarts and her friendship with Sirius. Blanche is indisputably one of my favourite OCs already and I hope you like her too. The first snippet in this prologue is from 1972, during Blanche's (and the Marauder's and Lily's) second year. The next set of snippets is from 1974 during Blanche's fourth year, and the final snippets are from 1975 during Blanche's fifth year. The real story will begin in Blanche's seventh year, I believe.**

 **I hope everyone likes this story, but I am very anxious about posting it and I would really love everyone's support! Although I love the favourites and follows, I adore everyone's comments more than anything and they are always what push me to update. Please leave your thoughts and tell me what you think. Reviews will help me decide whether I continue or ditch this fic.**

 **Your loving and ever-appreciative writer,**

 **Alisson**

* * *

 _September 1972_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _"Arresto momentum,"_ Blanche whispered into the collar of her gown, eyeing Peter Pettigrew with a devious grin. He sat a table down with his fellow friends—a quartet who began recently titling themselves 'The Marauders.' Peter dipped his spoon into the bowl of cock-a-leekie soup before him. As he tried bringing the spoon to his mouth, he found his hand braked to an achingly slow pace. Blanche watched slyly as his face contorted sluggishly.

"What are you doing, Peter?" Blanche heard James Potters' voice sound from her side of the table.

"I.. don't… know," he replied at a glacial pace, gradually squeezing out each consonant and vowel. Blanche watched as Remus Lupin broke into laughter beside Peter.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Blanche whispered in her collar again, looking directly at the spoon. Peter's lagging limbs couldn't catch the spoon as it left his hand. He reached up for it, but moved so slowly his hand wasn't even in the air before the spoon was nearly three metres in the air.

"Silencio," she finished in her collar, watching as Peter opened his mouth and tried to create words but failed.

"Bit tongue-tied, are we?" Blanche heard Sirius Black mock from his spot beside James.

As Apollyon Pringle walked to their shared row of tables, watching the magical enchantments take place, Blanche waited carefully until he identified her as the caster. He walked toward her quickly with a bitter look on his face until he was within ten metres of her. In her collar, she whispered: "Confundo," and watched as confusion drew across his wizened features. By the time he stood beside Blanche, he simply shook the jumbled thoughts from his head and walked on. Her final spell had revealed to the Marauders that she was the culprit, but that was all a part of her plan.

Blanche picked up the textbook she had been reading during supper, _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration,_ and exited the hall—intentionally passing and halting in front of the table at which the Marauders sat.

She looked at Peter with sharp eyes. "The next time you think to call a witch more skilled than yourself a 'kiss-arse' in front of an entire class, I recommend you rethink your decision—or else you might find yourself in a predicament such as this once again," she hissed. "Am I clear?"

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Blanche grinned. "I'll take that as a yes."

She continued out of the Great Hall. She could hear the non-charmed Marauders laughing boisterously as she left, and she allowed a haughty smile to reach her lips as she passed through the doors.

From the table between the Marauders and that at which Blanche had sat, Lily Evans watched the black-haired girl leave the hall. Lily swore she could feel a string of ice following her trail. She hadn't ever spoken to the girl, who mostly kept to herself these days. Maybe she'd seen her running around last year with one dark-haired boy, though he was nowhere to be seen this year. But she now had a sudden urge to befriend the witch who could so readily make fools out of bullies. She recalled her name was Blanche—a name which so starkly contrasted her dark features and the inky shadow she left in her path.

* * *

In Potions, Blanche usually sat by herself at the front of the class. By no means was she a 'kiss-arse' as Peter Pettigrew had claimed; she just genuinely liked and excelled in Potions. It wasn't her fault Professor Slughorn doted on her, it was only an unintentional result.

Today, however, a girl with vivid orange hair and green eyes from Blanche's house plopped down in the seat beside her.

"Hello Blanche," she greeted with a friendly grin. Blanche looked at her with a cold interest, as she often regarded things. Lily had noticed that Blanche was not particularly amiable, but she was determined to squeeze a friendship out of her.

"Lily," she nodded. Lily thought it was odd how a girl of only twelve could maintain such a distant and sophisticated disposition, but she genuinely believed she could crack through it. She knew she could when she saw Blanche's eyes from a closer range than ever before—they were the purest shade of cornflower blue. There was nothing cold in those eyes.

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?" Lily asked.

"Not at all," Blanche shrugged. Lily looked across the room to Severus who was now sitting alone—she mouthed 'sorry' to him and his lips thinned into a straight line.

"I really admired what you did last night at supper," Lily complimented. "I try to stick up to bullies, too."

Blanche sent her a fragmented smile, like she was unfamiliar with the kind of genuine compliment Lily had paid her. "That Peter's an idiot," Blanche said and shrugged.

In the opposite corner of the room—the back left corner—Peter tilted his head and muttered under his breath to Sirius: "Looks like the two class pets have decided to share a cage."

"Careful now, Peter. If she hears you making fun of you again, she might just turn you into a rat," Sirius replied with a grin.

"Yeah," Peter scoffed. "Over my dead body."

"For some reason, I don't believe she'd have a problem with that," Sirius responded cleverly.

Together, Lily and Blanche brewed an exemplary Hate Potion. Professor Slughorn allowed the girls to take a vial for themselves, on the terms that they only use it for 'playful purposes' only. Severus was the only other student to make a perfect potion, and he was also permitted a vial.

As Professor Slughorn dismissed the class, Lily and Blanche left the room together. They both laughed at their frizz-steamed hair and decided on whom to use their potions. As they walked down the hall and into the courtyard, Severus Snape stood by the partition between the courtyard and the hallways surrounding it. Lily departed from Blanche was a cordial farewell and followed Severus back down the halls. Severus sent Blanche a glare before his leave with Lily—it was a very cold glare, riddled with black ice.

"You shouldn't hang around her," Severus instantly informed Lily one she neared. "She's a Lestrange. They're Muggle-haters."

"She seemed perfectly happy with me," Lily optimistically shrugged. "They can't all be bad." Severus saw the light he loved so much in Lily's grass green eyes and decided to end the conversation there. They sauntered off to the library.

Meanwhile, Blanche entered the courtyard and was glad to see that pale frost had not yet glazed over the lawn. It was warm and large enough for most to occupy in their time between classes, and Blanche preferred quiet spaces and isolation, but the spot beneath the hazel tree was shaded, inviting, and open.

Blanche retrievedher copy of _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ and opened it on her lap. She resumed reading about the Melofors Jinx, but the slender streams of sunshine hitting the parchment pages were soon impeded by a figure that engulfed the entire book in shadow. Blanche looked up and saw Sirius Black standing before her. He was tall for a twelve year old boy, but somewhat gangling and seemingly unsure of movement with his new longer limbs and sudden height. His eyes and hair were dark, and he surely would have been daunting if it had not been for the prepubescent fat that still clung to his cheeks and jaw. He was by no means an unattractive fellow, but he was still deep within boyhood.

"That was Marauder behaviour, you know," he commented vaguely, but Blanche quickly picked up on his reference.

"Only playful retribution," Blanche shrugged.

"What are you reading?"

" _Jinxes for the Jinxed,"_ she answered. "I'm picking something special for Peter."

Sirius laughed, walking forward to look at the book from upside down. "Encases head in pumpkin," he read. "Sounds perfect for him."

"I thought he was your friend?" Blanche asked him.

"Gives me all the more reason to torment him," Sirius smiled deviously. He sat beside Blanche and looked at what else the book had to offer.

* * *

 _September 1974_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Blanche was walking leisurely to her Defence Against the Dark Arts class when Severus Snape crossed her path in an uncharacteristically disorganised run. She soon identified its reason as James Potter and Sirius Black were hot on his trail, shouting 'Snivellus' after him. Peter Pettigrew followed behind a metre or two with his heavier-set stature. He missed Blanche's glare when he passed.

She followed them out into the courtyard and watched as Sirius cast the stickfast hex on Severus. Blanche raised her wand and exclaimed, "Finite Incantatum."

Severus immediately unstuck from the ground and ran.

"Now why do you have to go and spoil all the fun, Blanche?" Sirius sighed, turning toward her as he recognised her voice. However, his eyes were lit with a new kind of amusement—the sort which a young boy has for the girl he always seeks out in a game of tag.

"Because she's sadistic," Peter sighed hopelessly. "Because she derives pleasure from our sorrow."

"Says the boy who laughed whilst he mercilessly taunted a boy who did nothing to him," she retorted, then her face darkened. "Don't make me cast the Jelly-Fingers Curse on your again."

Peter's ratlike face contorted in fear and he stepped back, moving into Sirius' long shadow. Sirius was now something to hide behind as he had grown taller and broader from when he'd first become friends with Blanche in their Second Year; manhood now seemed to be someplace on the horizon, but at fourteen his chin was still smooth as silk and his cheeks full with youth.

"You couldn't pick up a spoon, fork, or knife for two days," Sirius bent over laughing at the curse Blanche had cast upon Peter last year. The two had never made amends after the Soup Scandal from Second Year. "I thought you'd starve."

"Sirius, let's go to Defence Against the Dark Arts," Blanche tilted her head down the hallway.

"Right, forgot about that," he reached for the books he had thrown on the ground once in full pursuit of Severus. Like a hound, Sirius had the unfortunate habit of following her every move.

"See you later Prongs, Wormtail," he tilted his head in farewell.

"Go on Sirius—keep following her! Maybe one of these days she'll snog you!" James cried dramatically after the ever-following Sirius, who turned instantly and smacked James hard on the arm with the flat of his textbook. "Christ! Don't get your knickers in a knot!" James exclaimed in response.

Sirius ran back into the hall and caught up with Blanche, who was already on her way.

"I've this idea for Charms, Sirius," Blanche snickered once she saw his figure had caught up. Surely she'd heard James' joke and ignored it entirely—unfazed by the infatuation he had with her which had lately been the butt of everyone's joke. "Wait, we're in class together for that, right?"

"Yeah, we still have it together," he nodded.

"Perfect. Have you heard of the Caroling Jinx?" She asked him.

"Isn't that the one that forces people to sing?" He clarified.

"Yes," she nodded. "So I was thinking throughout the entire first class we cast the jinx on random students every time Flitwick tries to speak. Do you think you can do it without a wand?" She asked. Blanche was exceptionally talented at wandless magic; it was no trouble for her. And whilst Sirius was a profound and skilled wizard, she was unsure of his wandless ability. As naturally talented as he was, he didn't get about practicing or studying much.

"It hurts that you doubt my faculty," he said with feigned sentimentality. He held a hand over his heart in dramatic ache.

"Shut up," she shook her head, laughing.

Throughout Defence Against the Dark Arts, Sirius and Blanche scribbled down sample songs for their prank. They decided on a Christmas song, but fought over which. They were called out by the ever-changing Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—now an unfamiliar Professor Bucklebee—whilst they kicked one another's legs under the desk.

"Miss Lestrange and Mister Black!" Professor Bucklebee shouted from the raised lectern in the front of the classroom.

"Yes, Professor Bumblebee?" Sirius answered. The class snickered at the childish nickname.

"I will have order in my classroom, do you understand me?" Bucklebee snapped.

" _Your_ classroom? Or Professor Jekyll's classroom? Or Professor Lunny's? Or Professor Prewett's?" Sirius asked mockingly, his taunts maturing into something punishable.

"Quiet _down,_ Mister Black," Bucklebee commanded. "That's one week of detentions for you and Miss Lestrange. If you want another week's worth, keep it up."

"She didn't do anything, Professor," Sirius insisted.

"For every time you speak up, you get another week. This is your last chance, Mister Black. Are you sure you want to keep on?" Bucklebee questioned sharply.

Sirius cleared his throat and slumped backwards in his seat. Bucklebee turned back to the rest of the class, opening his mouth to continue. Sirius, however, interrupted.

"Salvio hexia, Professor," he announced from his seat.

"That's another week, Mister Black!"

"You asked for the counter-spell that deflected hexes from the area," Sirius clarified. "That's the answer."

Bucklebee paused, analysing the situation. Blanche grinned beside Sirius and nudged her knee with his, congratulating him on his effective embarrassment of the new professor. Bucklebee cleared his throat and announced as he turned toward the board: "Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"Twat," Sirius muttered under his breath.

* * *

In spite of the detentions Sirius and Blanche had already received, they figured they couldn't let their Caroling Jinx prank go to waste. It went off successfully, and Professor Flitwick had even found it quite amusing. The laughter of their first Charms class of Fourth Year washed off, however, by the time the following morning arrived. The two were scraping off gum the undersides of the desks in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Fuck Defence Against the Dark Arts," Sirius grumbled. "And fuck Professor Bumblebee."

"Bucklebee," Blanche corrected as a hunk of viridian gum fell into her pale.

"This is unfair," he whined.

"Stop pouting. You mouthed off to a professor. What did you expect, a sugar quill and a kiss?"

"It's unfair that you have detention, is what I meant," he clarified. "He should have given me two weeks and you none."

"Do yourself a favour and don't play the self-sacrificing gentleman with me. Nobody knows better than I that you don't mean it," she retorted.

"I do!"

"No, you're an arrogant prick who'd do anything to save his own arse," she muttered.

"Pardon me?!" Sirius exclaimed.

Blanche grinned at him from beneath the table and then looked back up, bringing her scraper to the dark, raw wood. She felt a dense wad hit her temple just before she started working at another. She gasped and looked at her lap to where the weapon had landed. It was a gigantic, ancient piece of thick taffy the colour of rust. "Prick!" She cried, reaching for a handful from her bucket. She didn't seem to care what she put her hand into, she only knew that she wanted to throw his weapon of choice right back at his face.

Several mounds of old gum hit Sirius in the face and he barked with laughter before reaching for another handful. Before either of them knew it, all the progress they had made was flying across the room. When both of them reached the bottoms of their buckets, Blanche threw it soaring across the room. It missed Sirius by an inch and shattered a vial that sat on a cupboard behind him. The two instantly broke into fits of rampant laughter.

"I can see you two have made progress," a familiar voice sighed from the entrance of the room. Lily Evans, dressed in her freshly-ironed gown and newly-shined shoes, looked at the mess they'd made with not a glimmer of surprise in her eyes.

"Oh no, not Lady Snape," Sirius swore whilst catching his breath.

"Shut up, Sirius. She's actually here per my request," Blanche walked over to her, then checked her crystal wristwatch. "Albeit, a little late."

"I had to finish my Muggle Studies essay, Blanche. It was due tonight. You know that," Lily pled goodheartedly.

"Well, why's _it_ here?" Sirius asked disdainfully. Somehow Blanche's two best friends had never met in the middle: Sirius thought Lily was an insipid goody-too-shoes, and Lily thought Sirius a pompous evildoer.

"Shut up, Sirius," Blanche silenced him. " _She_ is here because Professor Bucklebee said we can't use magic to clean the desks."

Sirius waited for her to finish, but she left him to figure it out. When he clearly was at a loss, she completed her plan: "But he never said Lily couldn't."

" _She's_ going to violate the rules?" Sirius laughed doubtfully, but Lily slid her wand out of her sleeve and began magically lifting the gum they had scattered and putting it back in the bucket.

"I'm actually not, seeing he never said I couldn't help," Lily smiled good-naturedly. It had taken Blanche a while to warm to Lily, but she eventually realised that there was nothing but goodness in this lovely, fire-haired girl. It was refreshing being around someone who would give everything she had just to make the world a better place.

Lily charmed both of the scrapers Blanche and Sirius held and they began to work at the gum magically, scraping at a much faster pace than had Blanche and Sirius.

"And it's not my fault he was fool enough not to watch your detention through," Lily smiled.

"New professors," Blanche sighed.

* * *

 _September 1975_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

There was a hill in the open space near the gamekeeper hut where the water touched the sand softly; this was the only place on the grounds of Hogwarts where land did not drop steeply into the Black Lake. It was not like the courtyards—it was clear and never crowded. On the hill was a yew tree, upon which Severus Snape would often read textbook chapters before they were even assigned. Here was a peaceful place—a place free from the taunting of the Marauders and James Potter's constant gibes.

But today that peace did not last as he saw crowds of kids from his year walking toward his sacred tree—all with Potter leading the pack.

"Come on Moony, Padfoot," James called as he withdrew his wand. Severus held his with a shaking hand, but he was too slow. "Expelliarmus!" The wand flew from Severus' weak grip.

"Nice one, James!" Sirius called from the back.

"Impedimenta!" James shouted, freezing Severus' movements and lifting him into the air with the tip of his wand.

The crowd chanted 'Snivellus, Greasy' over and over again like a pack of wild followers. In the distance, Severus saw the flaming red hair of Lily Evans as she rushed forward. She was followed by the dark-haired girl, ironically named Blanche, who looked lost to whose side to take. On the one hand, Severus had judged her to be a vain and aloof rich girl who only put an end to the Marauder's taunts because of distaste or sheer boredom. But on the other, he had taken notice of her in class and discovered her to be extremely shrewd—which was an unusual trait for a Lestrange. From Severus' understanding, their genetic brilliance was often uprooted by their lack of sane judgement. Thus, he really did not know what to expect from her.

"Alright, who wants to see me take off Snivelly's trousers?!" James called to the crowd and they hooted in support.

"Potter, put him down this instant!" Lily ran up to him and tried to push him away, but James held his footing and wand securely.

"Get out of here, Evans," James spoke sternly, looking unusually harshly at the orange-haired girl. For as long as Blanche had been Lily's friend, she had seen the loving watch James had set on her. But here he seemed to forsake that as he hardened under the expectations of popularity.

"Not until you let him be! Can't you see he's helpless!" She cried. At that humiliation and grand vulnerability, Severus visibly started.

"Sirius, make James put him down," Blanche scowled severely. He wavered for a minute at her order, but then ignored her. He tried to look away from the knife-fine glare of her icy eyes, but had trouble. "You're as spineless as him, you fool," she finished, gesturing to the boy who hung upside-down.

Blanche walked away from Sirius stiffly and pulled out her wand in an attempt to break James' charm.

"Liberacorpus," Blanche cast, dropping Severus to the ground and effectively breaking James' enchantment. Lily ran to Severus' crumpled body on the ground, but the embarrassment still pumped through his heart like fire and the sounds of the belittling chants still rang in his ear. He wasn't sure what was the most humiliating: the work of James, the desperate defences of Lily, or the use of his own spell upon him by Blanche Lestrange.

Severus flung himself as far from Lily and Blanche as his injured body would. "I didn't ask for your help, you blood traitor!" He shouted to Blanche. She instantly paled—even paler than she naturally was—and then he turned to Lily. "And I don't need anything from you anymore, you filthy Mudblood!"

Severus pulled himself from the ground and dragged himself off, casting away everything but the blood that pumped through his ears.

* * *

Lily cried in Blanche's arms in the Gryffindor Common Room that night. Blanche was not accustomed to tears staining her nightgown; her family was a cold one, and hugs were not found easily on their estate. Blanche had trouble sympathising with Lily, as she had never seen a reason for friendship with Severus. Then again, Lily had never seen a reason for friendship with Sirius, and Blanche, too, felt like she would have trouble forgiving him for what he'd done.

"Perhaps he'll apologise, Lily," Blanche offered, but Lily immediately shook her head.

"I can't forgive him for it. He's said it, and now I know it's always been there all along in his mind. I'm tired of finding excuses for this darkness inside of him. Olympia, Holly, and Kyra don't even understand why I talk to him," Lily cried. Blanche had trouble not rolling her eyes at that last bit. Their friendship really was of odd character—Blanche loathed all of Lily's other friends and Lily loathed all of Blanche's other friends (of which there were few). "And what about what he called you—a _blood traitor?_ Is that how he sees people? Is everyone just some fraction of mud and magic?"

"You and I both know what Severus is. He's chosen his path, and we know what path that is," Blanche spoke darkly, thinking of the Dark Arts that had not only taken her family, but now Lily's family too. "But you should hear the decision come from his mouth."

Lily looked up at Blanche with tear-filled, grass green eyes. "You're right," she sniffed. "But he'll have to come to me first. Although either way, I cannot forgive him."

Blanche then realised this was Lily's first break in realistic human reaction where she unusually opted for unconventional optimism and cheeriness. If Severus wanted back their friendship, Lily would not give it, no matter how unhappy it made Severus. Lily would not sacrifice her self-respect to make him happy. Lily's sunlight was what drew Blanche in all along, but this break in her porcelain façade was like the break in a dam. Dark waters came rushing forth, and Blanche finally felt like she might have a real sister.

* * *

In Arithmancy, Blanche didn't sit with Sirius. Blanche knew what a blow to him this was seeing she was the only reason he took the elective—she'd begged him the entire summer between Fourth and Fifth Year to take it with her. Halfway through the class, Blanche looked across the room through the corner of her eyes and saw Sirius face down on the desk, sleeping.

As much as Blanche loved Arithmancy, she couldn't focus on the reading on Numerological Theory. Every time Sirius snored lightly, she laughed to herself and looked across the room. The Professor of Arithmancy was nearing Dumbledore's age and was also as deaf as a post, and as he sat at the front of the room grading their latest exams, he had no idea Sirius was off in dreamland.

Sirius finally woke at the sensation of a Ravenclaw boy throwing a pencil at him. Blanche watched Sirius instantly look to the seat beside him to ask her how long he'd been out, but then his face fell when he realised she wasn't there and in her stead sat a besotted Ravenclaw who blushed when he met her eyes.

Grumbling, Sirius stood and walked over to the table she sat at alone. He took the seat beside her and watched her closely as she lowered her face to her textbook.

"You've at least got to amuse me. I wouldn't be taking this class if I knew it would be me sitting alone for an hour twice a week," he stated flatly.

"I don't know, you looked pretty peaceful over there," she shrugged, looking at him. With sleep fresh on his face, the youth that had been fading from his face of late sprung anew. Nowadays he shaved just a few barely-there patches of hair on his chin and upper lip, and the line of his jaw was coming in; but in that moment of tiredness, he was thirteen again.

Sirius looked at his lap and a stream of dark curls fell over his face. "I'm sorry about Severus. I should have listened to you."

"You didn't, though," she responded in a blank voice, drawing her eyes back over the textbook.

"We were just messing around—"

"Don't try to excuse yourself," she silenced him. "I want you to apologise to him. And if James ever wants a date with Lily, I'd recommend he accompany you."

Sirius' brow furrowed at the mention of his friend's long-lasting obsession with Lily Evans. "How did you know?"

"Ever since I first saw him with her, I just knew," she shrugged. "Men aren't particularly clever. You can see it in their eyes."

Sirius grinned, looking over at her with wide eyes as grey as clouds looming over lightning. "What do you see in mine?"

"A coward," she answered. He balled his hand in a fist and hit the desk loudly in anger. The goofy look dropped from his face when he refocused his close stare.

"If I do this, will you forgive me?" He asked.

"Yes," she responded. Sirius stood and began to walk right out of the classroom. Before he was far enough from him, she lunged for his hand and tugged him backward. He looked at her in confusion, but her face was purely devoid of emotion. "I want his forgiveness of you, but make sure he knows he shouldn't expect mine or Lily's."

Sirius nodded stoically. If there was one thing in their minds that was equally clear, it was that the term 'blood traitor' was not a word to be used lightly. Both coming from families who valued the pure-blood agenda, they did not take being called a blood traitor kindly. After their acquaintance was nurtured into friendship over second and third year, the final bridge that made him and her best friends was what sat behind both of their last names: hatred, prejudice, and egotism. Both Blanche and Sirius were the black sheep in their families for their tolerance, and over that they clung to one another.

Sirius continued out of the room with stiff shoulders. The professor never noticed that he had left—to no surprise.

* * *

Later that week, Sirius and Blanche sat in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room playing chess on a Tuesday night. Sirius was winning—to Blanche's frustration—and not hiding his joy in this accomplishment. They both lay on their stomachs with their chins nearly sitting on the chessboard's edge. Blanche's sharp eyes glowered at Sirius's smiling ones through the heads of her queen, king, and bishops.

"So a little bird told me something," Blanche eventually spoke after moving a pawn.

"And what did it tell you?" He replied, studying the board for his next move. She bemusedly watched him do this. The fireplace cast a shadow of his straight nose and long lashes onto his left cheek and Blanche reckoned he looked quite handsome under such amorous lighting and in such close view. She proceeded to banish the thought from her head.

"That James is going to ask Lily on a date," Blanche replied.

"Hmm…" Sirius thought, moving a rook and seizing one of her pawns. She sighed at the loss, but looked to Sirius for further response. "Which little bird told you this?"

"One Remus Lupin," she giggled.

"I see," Sirius nodded.

"Well?" She asked further, raising her brow.

"What?" He countered with a knowing grin.

"Is he?"

"Why are you so curious?"

"Why can't you just answer me?" She said before claiming one of his knights with a pawn.

"Cheap shot," Sirius commented through pursed lips then turned his attention away from the board. "Yes, it's true. He's _finally_ going to do it, he's just immensely nervous."

"Why?" Blanche returned.

"I don't know why," he laughed. "Should he be?"

Blanche shrugged with a knowing smile on her face. "What?"

"Does she have a crush on him? Do you think she'd say yes?" Sirius eagerly enquired.

"Why are you so curious?" She imitated his low voice.

"Why can't you just answer me?" He returned in an imitation of her own high voice, causing her to laugh.

"I can't speak for her. But I don't think she'd say no."

"I see. What would she like to do?" Sirius enquired further. She shrugged in response, moving her bishop and taking a pawn of his. "Would she like a double date?"

"With whom?" Blanche questioned, raising a brow at him.

"Well, you and I could go…" he mumbled.

"No, thank you. That sounds like one of the most uncomfortable events I've ever heard of."

"Would it be, though? I think it would be kind of fun…" Sirius tried to casually argue for the chance to bring her out on a date. However, the response was what it had been all these years:

"Oh, stop it, Sirius. That's silly," she finished the conversation then widened her eyes towards the board. "Well, are you going to go?"

Several moments after Sirius was effectively shut down, Lily herself came into the Common Room through the the portrait of the Fat Lady. She carried a handful of letters with her, dropping one off with Blanche before sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. "I saw Sulwen hanging about the Owlery," Lily explained before turning to her own letters.

Whilst Sirius studied for his next move, Blanche let out a groan of exasperation seeing the letter her snowy owl must have brought in this past weekend.

 _Blanche,_

 _I hope the start of your sixth year at Hogwarts has been constructive; your father and I are very proud of your academic success. I am thrilled to tell you that your Uncle Rodolphus has become engaged to a charming woman by the name of Bellatrix Black, who is most wonderful and talented. She is the cousin of your friend Sirius. I am, in fact, writing to you about this boy. Rodophus has told me that his fiancée's cousin is a blood traitor. As Bellatrix's aunt, Walburga, has confirmed this, your father and I have decided you shall no longer be associated with this rapscallion any longer. His familiarity with you reflects poorly on your father to the Dark Lord. I am confused to why you affiliate with his kind; your father and I raised you the True way, and I believed you had better judgement than this. I was speaking to Walburga further of her incorrigible eldest son, and she tells me he associates himself with Mudbloods. This is unacceptable behaviour and I request it stop at once._

 _Bellatrix's and Rodolphus' wedding will be held just after your return from Hogwarts for Christmas. When I see you then, I expect your deviant behaviour to be rectified._

 _Best regards,_

 _Lavinia Greengrass Lestrange_

"Short and sweet," Blanche mumbled to herself as she crumbled the letter in her hands. Sirius looked up to her with wide grey eyes as he held onto one of his pawns. She smiled gently down at him, not wanting to share the news with him—it wasn't like it would change anything. Plus, it would just make him sad.

So she set her fingers around it and set the page afire, and before the flames licked her skin she tossed it into the fireplace.


	2. Long-Awaited Presents

**This is a bit of a short chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it! I had a blast writing it, and the next one is even better (if I do say so myself). Unlike my other fanfictions, I'm going to start answering questions you guys leave in the comments... So send me your inquiries! All of the questions will be at the bottom of the story, so as not to entirely distress your reading. Please favorite, follow, and MOST IMPORTANTLY comment! Your guys' comments are my favorite part of it all (aside from the writing, of course)!**

* * *

 _September 1977_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Blanche tried to keep an objective eye on Sirius' fully-formed countenance. At the return to Hogwarts for their seventh and final year, Blanche discovered the summer had permitted Sirius a new and final coat. He was almost as tall at Remus, who peaked several inches over six feet, and someplace in broadness between James, who was forever gangly, and Remus, who was as densely-packed as they come. A regular scruff came to his cheeks, which were slanted from cheekbone to chin in a masculine elegance. The thick rings of his dark hair tickled his neck and his brows arched minutely in their standard Black fashion. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Sirius was a man.

The girls had flocked and squawked like chickens from an early year—Blanche estimated around third year the admirers had begun to ripen and pursue. Sirius had always been a handsome boy, but now he was completed in a statuesque beauty; consequently, his following was now at its strongest. He selected a couple to keep under his arm and on his lap from time to time, making and breaking hearts, but nothing was ever serious. Blanche's only problem with the girls was the time restrictions it placed on her friendship with Sirius. For instance, a prank they had planned via owl over the summer scheduled for the first day of Potions was 'saved for later' when Yvette Colander asked Sirius to sit next to her during class.

But Blanche had to look at it all _objectively._ Sirius was a very charming and handsome boy, and that was just about a universal truth. Another universal truth—friends grow apart. It happens, and Blanche swallowed down her memories and decided to spend more time with Lily.

However, that was a bit of a waste as Lily was now in a committed relationship with Potter. Whenever Lily and Blanche scheduled to get a Butterbeer or two in Hogsmeade, along came—without notification—James Potter, a boy who Lily had once passionately called an 'arrogant, bullying toe-rag.' Now they were draped across one another at all times, caught deep in the sticky web of young love.

Blanche sighed as she pushed all her emotions out through her mouth and walked alone to Arithmancy, which Sirius had dropped out of after a sixth-year shagging buddy had asked him to take Divination with her. Divination and Arithmancy were both electives, and their classes ran at the same time. So it was either Blanche or his sixth-year shagging buddy—Blanche corrected her thoughts, it was either _friendship or sex._ Sirius chose the latter. It was all understandable, Blanche insisted.

As Sirius was no longer there in constant need of distraction, Blanche sat at the desk closest to the teacher's desk. From there, the professor would actually be able to hear her when she answered questions. The desks were three seats long, and Blanche sat herself in the middle so she could keep her textbooks open around her for any need of reference. As she dipped her quill in ink and wrote the date at the top of her page, the textbooks to her right and left instantly came sliding inwards toward her and crumpled her parchment.

"Pardon me!" She shouted, looking to her sides for the culprits. To her left was Sirius, and to her right James. She sighed and crumpled her paper into a ball, pulling out a fresh one. "What are you two imbeciles doing here? This is Arithmancy."

"And I'm taking this elective…?" Sirius looked at her oddly, one eyebrow raised.

"What about Cosette Fauser and Divinity?" She spat.

"Meh… Over it," he shrugged.

"I switched in from Study of Ancient Runes. I can't stand Professor Plunkett anymore," James explained. "And Cosette Fauser is no longer in the picture. Padfoot found something _new_ this summer in Falmouth," he filled her in.

"Congratulations to you, Sirius. Muggle?"

"Yes, madam," he chuckled and looked at Potter with sinful eyes, as though the two shared some esoteric understanding about muggle women that Blanche could never 'comprehend.'

"Your parents must be thrilled," she laughed quietly.

"As you're aware, they are no longer in the picture," Sirius replied. "You know that, remember when you denied me sanctuary last year?"

"You can complain all you'd like, but I did it for your own good. My household is as pureblood supremacist as they come," she rolled her eyes. The night after Sirius ran away from Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he'd phoned Blanche—a particularly unusual way of wizard communication—and asked her if he could spend some time at her house. It hurt when she denied him as he was essentially homeless for the night, but temporary joining the Lestrange household would be only for the worst. Sirius couldn't understand how bad it would be; she hadn't ever told him her father, Rabastan Lestrange, was a Deatheater, and she hadn't ever told him what had happened to Talbot, the muggleborn wizard.

Sirius' second call was to James, who had welcomed him with open arms into the Potter household in Falmouth.

"And thank Merlin I did, or else you never would have met the _muggle!"_ She sarcastically cheered. She then looked to James with eyes that revealed only formality—there was no hint of legitimate interest in them. "And how was your summer with Lily, James?"

"I didn't see her as much as I'd have liked, but it was a riot when she came. Lily adored Mary, so that was all well and good—"

"Mary?" I asked.

"Sirius' muggle," James answered.

"Oh, right. They're pets now—I forgot," Blanche snapped.

James realized talking about Mary with Blanche was probably not the brightest of ideas. He knew Blanche never romantically considered Sirius, but he still trod carefully. He had made Blanche angry before and it was not a pretty sight. Whenever he did, he had to send in Sirius as messenger and mediator, and sometimes even that took weeks.

"How was your summer, Blanche? And sparks of romance?" James asked with wiggling eyebrows. "Or a shag, even?"

"Oh," Blanche sighed femininely. "I began this absolutely _torrid_ love affair with a Highlander. But it was all quite discreet, you see—he had a wife back in Skye and seven children. He was an utter _menace_ in bed. I felt guilty for it, but it just all felt _so_ good and _so_ right!" She squealed.

" _What?"_ James gawked, but Sirius only laughed.

"She's kidding, Prongs," he shook his head. "Blanche hasn't even held a boy's hand before. In fourth year I tried to put my arm around her and she bit me."

Blanche shrugged, but washed away the minimal embarrassment that fluttered in her throat when Sirius exposed her puritan habits. "I don't find boys interesting."

" _Girls?"_ Sirius and James both gaped simultaneously, leaning forward.

Blanche's face contorted. "Girls are even less interesting."

James groaned at the turnaround—clearly let down.

"Sorry Prongsy—better save that one for the spank bank," Sirius sighed.

"Have I ever told you that you're an overweening, vulgar swine?" She asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"I believe so," Sirius answered, after giving a feigned moment of thought.

The Professor of Arithmancy hobbled in after some time, crooked and crumbling as ever, and set down a stack of textbooks on his desk. Blanche looked at Sirius' empty desk and laughed internally, but the amusement soon washed away. In spite of this being the most difficult Arithmancy class Hogwarts offered, he'd still somehow ace his N.E.W.T.s in the class.

"Welcome back," the professor spoke in a wisp of a voice. Blanche saw James looked over her head to Sirius with a mortified expression.

"Missing Professor Plunkett already?" Blanche spoke at her regular volume. James instantly looked to the professor with frightened eyes.

"Don't worry, he can barely hear his own voice," Sirius promised.

"Now," the professor continued without notice. He walked to his desk and began reading what the enchanted chalk wrote. "The Properties of Numbers in Relation to and Numerical Value of Divination."

James and Sirius both sighed beside her.

* * *

 _October 1977_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"So tell me, Miss Lestrange," Slughorn addressed her as she took an elegant sip of red wine. She felt Lily's hand pinch her from under the table. Blanche sent her a sly eye her way, and Lily smiled at her plate. "Which Queen Blanche of history is it you're named after?"

"Not a queen, actually. My mother named me after Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster, the first wife of John of Gaunt," she answered dutifully.

"Interesting," he nodded with the genuine curiosity he nurtured for all of his Slug Clubbers. "Why this Blanche in particular?"

"My grandmother used to read my mother tales of medieval kings when she was little in lieu of fairytales. The story of Katherine Swynford and John of Gaunt was her favorite, although she rather hated Katherine and adored Blanche, who died at twenty-three."

"I'm afraid I do not know much of this Blanche of Lancaster, but I do appreciate your mother's value of history. How does she do—Lavinia is her name, is it not? And your father?"

"They're doing well," Blanche stretched a smile on her face and nodded. Formalities and good behavior were always such a bore.

"Excellent," Slughorn nodded. He looked around the table with a glowing grin. The young wizards and witches surrounding him were his prized possessions, and although the dinners and gatherings were tedious, they did hold a place in Blanche's heart. "And speaking of those named for sovereigns, what about you Severus? Are you perhaps named for Septimius Severus?"

Severus' weighty black eyes rose across the table to meet Slughorn. These days he looked more willowy and ghastly than ever; his skin was as white as parchment, and his black locks hung in thick, straight curtains around his long face. "I was," Severus responded. He was not the most sociable of fellows, and he much preferred the company of books and cauldrons to that of classmates and professors. In Severus' curt reply, this much was obvious.

Blanche looked back to Lily to see her fork playing with a lone lettuce leaf on her plate. Since Severus' insult in fifth year, Lily had never been able to be her true self around him. It was true—she was eternally angry at him for being called that, but Blanche was sure it went further than that. In Severus' bones, Lily understood the way he saw the wizarding world: True-blood, half-blood, and mudblood. This was the worst offense of mankind to Lily—to be full of hate.

The dinner ended around twelve that night, and Lily walked back to the Gryffindor house in silence. She was rarely silent; sometimes quiet, but never silent. Blanche watched the contours of her face bloom in the light of the moon as it peaked through the stained glass windows. Like most of her classmates, adulthood had set in on her face. Though her childlike optimism remained, her face revealed that it had been splintered and cracked over the years.

"Do you truly believe he's set to become a Deatheater?" Blanche asked her. There was no point of avoiding the topic of Severus; even if Blanche talked about something else, she knew Lily's mind would stay placed on him.

"Yes. When I asked him in fifth year, he never denied it. Not to mention he's best friends with Avery and Mulciber, both of whom will inevitably become Deatheaters," she shook her head in disdain. "I don't think I'll ever understand it, thinking like that—like there are people who are 'dirty _.'_ Not even muggles— _wizards_ who are 'dirty.' How can someone think like that? Think that so many wizards and witches are 'filthy?' Like they have some control over to whom they are born, and like they should care! Family is family. I'm proud to be muggleborn. I'm proud of my parents," she spoke. Her rambling was a little straying—probably as a result of the four glasses of wine she'd had.

Blanche thought of her words 'family is family.' Should everyone forgive family of their sins for the sake of them being family? Was everything superficial within the bonds of blood? Could nothing cut and scar?

"Not everyone is proud of their parents, Lily," Blanche commented.

"I know what your parents are like, Blanche, but I believe nothing can conquer the sacredness of family," Lily argued adamantly. Blanche was not infuriated with this opinion, nor was she annoyed. There was no way Lily could ever grasp what it was like to see one's own parents as monsters; she had never experienced anything to this degree. She had seen it with Severus, but that wasn't close enough. In order to understand, Lily needed to see it in the blood.

For a transient moment of thought, Blanche came to see Lily's hypocrisy and naïveté. Lily believed blood meant nothing in the eyes of supremacy, but she thought blood relations were supreme. She believed Severus, who she once called her brother, could never be forgiven for the ways he saw the world, but she believed all families were rooted in forgiveness.

But this was Lily, whose world was full of great, vibrant colors and never a black nor a shade of grey. She believed shadows were dark because they missed the sun, and any sorrow could be swept away with a smile. It must have been a riveting world to live in, but Blanche couldn't live without the grey. Survival was written in grey.

In the Gryffindor common room, Lily and Blanche played chess until the sadness was worn from Lily's face. As usual, her sentiments came and went with the break of dawn and she started anew. The girls climbed up to bed and laughed until their bellies hurt. They woke their other roommates several times, but Lily's abundant and affectionate apologies settled them back into sleep. With their eyes barely open, Lily studied the shade of the duvet provided by the school that was folded over her.

"Why would they pick this shade of green? It's so dingy and grey," she frowned, holding a corner of the duvet to the candlelight.

"You know, in fifth year Sirius introduced me to his cousin Andromeda Tonks at the train station before we left for summer. He quite liked her—she wasn't like the rest of the Blacks… She was like Sirius. She was married to a muggleborn and pregnant at the time. She bought me chips whilst I waited for my mother to arrive, who was naturally late. Andromeda was very beautiful, and her hair was dyed grey. I knew it was dyed as she was far too young, and it wasn't a lovely and snowy shade of silver as some women wear their hair, nor was it a bluish and enigmatic dark grey. It was just a very average grey—like the color of smoke. I asked her why she dyed it that color, and she said she did because grey was her favorite color. I asked her why in Merlin's name would someone's favorite color be grey, as though it were preposterous. She told me it was because grey was the branch between two extremes, and the only true middle ground in the natural world," she recounted. Blanche looked to Lily to see her eyes closed, but she hummed in absentminded response with some semblance of wakefulness. More to herself than anyone, Blanche added: "She believed the wisest men had grey eyes."

Blanche looked up to the canopy above her bed. It wasn't dingy and grey, it was the color of ancient pine in the dead of February, surviving the long and cold winter of the north. It was beautiful. Absentmindedly, as Blanche's eyes fluttered shut and she slowly slept away into the night, she mumbled: "Sirius has grey eyes."

* * *

 _Early November 1977_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"Have you gotten me a birthday present yet, young Blanche?" Sirius asked her as he stole a small plum from her plate, bringing it to his mouth. Blanche rolled her eyes—now that Sirius was a week away from his eighteenth birthday, he wouldn't stop referring to himself as her 'great elder' and to her as his 'young Blanche.'

"Right now I'm in the process of deciding whether you _deserve_ a birthday present," she replied. That was untrue—she knew exactly what she was going to give him. In Potions she had brewed unparalleled cauldrons of Felix Felicis, Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Wit-Sharpening Potion, Ceridwen's Brew, and Tertia Oculus. As her reward, Professor Slughorn had permitted her vials of each. These were presented to her after class, so as not to caused conflict amongst less talented and doted on students. Blanche planned to put them all in a chest and present it to Sirius for his birthday.

"Well, I do," Sirius announced. "And I know what I want."

"And what's that?" She asked with a sigh. He didn't know what he was getting into; considering the market price of at least half of the potions Blanche had brewed, this was the most lavish birthday present she had gotten him yet.

"To go out," he said simply after clearing his throat.

"Where, to Hogsmeade? Didn't James tell you he was already throwing you a party there on your birthday?" She questioned, then bit the inside of her lip. "Unless, that was a surprise…"

"It wasn't—I already knew about that. I'm going to ask him to move it to another night," Sirius told her.

"What? Why? Don't you want to celebrate your actual birthday?" She asked, then paled instantly. "Oh no… Are your parents coming to visit for your birthday?!"

"Merlin's shite—I'd sooner ask for death than them on my birthday. That's not why I'm moving it. I already told you I want to go out with you for my birthday," he told her.

"You want to go…somewhere?" She questioned him. Rarely ever did Blanche feel absolutely befuddled, but she could admit to herself she was in this moment. Why was he so fidgety? Why so vague?

"Yes, with you."

"Well, I don't know about you but that sounds like our typical Sunday night… and many other nights of the week. Don't you want to do something special for your birthday? And what's this about what you want _for_ your birthday. I know that you know I was just being snarky when I said I was deciding whether you deserved a present or not. I already have an idea," she nudged him in the stomach with a knowing grin. "And if I do say so myself—it's _quite_ a brilliant idea."

"Okay, well scratch that."

She leaned away from him as her brows knit together. What the hell was he going on about? "Alright, I'm confused. I'm not usually lost, but you've managed to do it."

"For my birthday present, I want you to go on a date with me," he spoke confidently. But Blanche knew Sirius well enough that behind his straightened back and speedily tapping fingers, he was nervous. Sirius Black was _nervous._ She never thought she'd see the day.

"To… Hogsmeade?" She asked. Once again, Sirius had managed to utterly throw her off track. Blanche was only slow with words and stuck in her own discomfort once in a blue moon. But here she was, feeling a bit of pink at the apples of her cheeks and honey-slow in the mouth.

"I was thinking a bit bigger than that," he shrugged casually.

"What, London?" She asked and he shrugged again. "Why on Earth would you want to spend your birthday in London with just me? Am I even allowed to bring you a present?" She asked in incredulity.

"No, the date is your present to me," he said. She was getting very tired of his strange and short responses.

"That's a really shitty gift," she laughed. "Oh… Wait, I see. Are we meeting your parents for dinner? You want me to pose as your pretty, Pureblood, muggle-hating girlfriend for the evening? Why didn't you just say so?! Wouldn't be the first time."

"No, it's not that," he spoke in a flat voice. Blanche stared at him in irritation with her nostrils flaring for some time, then slammed her textbooks in a column and pushed her plate halfway across the table in anger. She leant over to Sirius and aligned her erect pointer finger with the end of his straight nose.

"Would you do me a favor and not speak like a monosyllabic dullard the next time you see me? If the next thing you say to me is less than two sentences, I swear to God I will not even attend your damned birthday party!" She threatened lowly with a clenched jaw and left the Great Hall in a cold storm.

It was evening by the time Blanche had arrived in the Gryffindor common room, and as with every evening, many of her housemates were lounging by the fire, studying, and chatting in a worn but pleasant haze. The days of November had been increasingly short and cold of late, and Blanche had been able to see her breath as she'd walked through the courtyard to the Gryffindor Tower. She'd forgotten her wool dresses in Sirius' lap when she'd stormed out of the room at the conclusion of her supper. Blanche walked over to the roaring fire in the common room hearth and held her hands within the rampant orange light cast by the flames.

She heard the portrait of the Fat Lad fly open and slam shut, and suspected who it was. She knew he would soon pull her to the side of the room and explain his odd behavior and shed some light on whatever he had just proposed. However, Blanche was not at all expecting that he'd announce it in front of everyone: "Blanche Lestrange!" He shouted and the room instantly quieted. Blanche drew her hands from the fire and turned around, looking at him with a scowl and eyes as inflamed as the logs on the grate in the hearth.

"What are you—"

"I asked this _cruel_ and _malevolent_ woman to go on a date with me in London as _her_ gift to me for _my_ birthday," he addressed the crowds, making them jury to our scramble. "And she became furious with me. Is this fair?" He raised his hands in outrage, looking to his peers. They were quiet at first, but then one familiar voice rang out.

"Hell no!" It was James. Once the Head Boy of Gryffindor gave his answer, the onlookers agreed loudly and passionately.

"Blanche, I don't need a book or whatever you planned to give me, and I don't want a chastising. All I want, as _my present,_ is to take you out for dinner," he pressed in a hard voice. Then he addressed his peers once more—a group of Gryffindors who were quickly following his persuasive diction. "My comrades—this girl is my best friend. We spend all of our time together, but many of you may ask," he was now overripe with attention and Blanche rolled her eyes, "—'but Sirius, sir, how will this be any different from those times?' Well I'll tell you!" He held out his right hand and listed everything off one by one on his fingers. With each, he took a step toward Blanche. "There will be flowers, there will be music, there will be a dress shirt and a gown, and I will pay for your _bloody_ dinner!"

The crowds were now chanting his name in worship—Blanche no longer felt at peace and ease in this warm common room, but stressed as though she were at an international Quidditch game and she was on the losing side.

"Go with him, Blanche! Agree to go!" Blanche heard Lily's playful voice shout over the crowds. Blanche followed her voice and located her on an armchair with her knees bouncing in chant beside James.

Sirius was only her best friend—how bad could it be?

"Fine," she agreed. The crowd broke out in victory.

* * *

 **QUESTIONS:**

 **... To Lil Miss Sunshine14: In spite of this chapter, most of the subsequent chapters will not be like this. As the story begins I had to start with little bits and pieces put together, but you'll see that after this chapter (especially the next which is QUITE delectable) I'm doing much bigger chunks over shorter periods of time. The major time lapses will be between chapters. To your second question, you'll see in later chapters again that Blanche doesn't speak much about her friends at school at home and really hasn't ever (she learned this the hard way, and you'll see how). Blanche is not like Sirius in that she is not rebellious and forthright in the household, and even endures the Pureblood bile spewed out in her household. In her moral compass, however, she is identical to Sirius. The way she acts in the house, however, is not indicative of weakness. Although the Blacks and the Lestranges are similar, Sirius' parents are quite different from Blanche's. You will most definitely see this later (I believe in Chapter 4? I could be wrong. I have it all written but I'm too lazy to check.) Thank you for your questions!**


	3. Badly-Behaved Burdens

**I hope everyone enjoys this chapter... I know I did! Please leave reviews, like, and follow. Questions/Answers are at the bottom!**

* * *

 _Early November 1977_

 _Carkitt Market, Wizarding Quarter of London, England_

"You're a cretin," Blanche told him as they walked down Carkitt Market to the restaurant he had planned for them to eat at. He grabbed for her hand and she instantly pulled away, but he said only 'birthday' in response and she sighed in irritated consent. In the arm that was not attached to Sirius' by hand, a rather ornate bouquet of gardenia and blue freesia was held.

"I hate flowers for the purpose of gift-giving. It's such a waste," she said.

"I know you do," he grinned. "But you're just going to have to deal with them, because it's _my_ day."

"Fine. I don't like flowers for the purpose of gift-giving, but these ones smell nice," she muttered. She looked up at Sirius and saw him grin. He took his hand from hers and looped his arm around his shoulders, planting a kiss on her forehead.

She groaned. "You know I hate it when you do that," she pushed him away, but he managed to keep her under his long, hard arm. "It makes me feel like you're my father."

"Shall I kiss you someplace else?" He suggested. She struggled against him and wormed away from him; she ran several steps ahead from him. With mischievous and long-awaiting eyes, Sirius watched the skirt of her blue dress jump with each of her steps.

"Shut up, you degenerate," she insulted.

"Your synonyms for sleaze, idiot, and arsehole are infinitely admirable."

* * *

Only to herself did Blanche admit she was having an excellent time with Sirius at the pub he'd brought them to. Thankfully he hadn't followed through on his promise of an actual restaurant; they went to the Hopping Pot, a local pub. Although it would be a lie to say the Elf-made Wine and the Daisyroot Draught hadn't softened her her edges, by no means was she falling into the trap Sirius had arranged.

Sirius had, in fact, removed himself from his attempts years ago. In third and fourth year he'd tried quite hard to sweep Blanche off her feet and make a real girlfriend out of her, but she had never had it. Since her blatant rejections, he had settled with their close friendship and relieved himself romantically and sexually elsewhere. However, tonight—it seemed—Sirius was living through his younger moods and affections once more.

"Why don't you show me it?" Sirius laughed as he brought his red currant rum to his mouth. His pink lips were stained a bright berry red, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Blanche.

"I don't want to," she whined over the rim of her glass of wine. "Didn't you say you were paying?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Only if you show me," he insisted. She relented with her usual sigh and called over a waiter, ordering some absurdly titled dessert made of bananas and chocolate.

"Open your hand," she ordered and he did so. She unbuttoned the wrist of his dress shirt and pushed it up so his forearm was exposed. It was difficult not to notice the pronounced course blood vessels ran up his arm. She lifted his wrist to her mouth and planted a short kiss directly into the curling palm of his hand. Sirius watched the purse her dark lips made, and the transformation of his pale white skin into lapis. He brought his palm to his face and marveled slowly, the rum slowing his brain to a sedate but warm pace. The dessert speedily plopped down in front of them. Before reaching for a fork, Sirius dipped his pointer and middle finger into the airy, sugared cream sitting at the top. He held the covered fingers up and extended them toward Blanche, asking her to do him a great favor with his eyes.

"Are you kidding me?" She asked with wide eyes.

"Come on, I'm like your brother," he argued with a chuckle, straightening his fingers.

"You mean that?" She asked with mischievous eyes as he brought his fingers close to her mouth.

"Not in the slightest," he grumbled in a voice Blanche had never heard before. She sucked off the cream from his pointer and middle finger, letting each come from her mouth with a different color. Blanche imagined she had been too young to identify the look in his eyes when he had been actively pursuing her years ago. Either that, or he had been too young to look the way he did. But at that moment, as she set his multicolored hand down on the table, she could openly admit that they were much more to one another than best friends. This was a ephemeral thought; it made itself present, sat down, then moved over; in seconds it was gone.

Blanche cast her eyes downward finally, saving Sirius from a lack of air and an incredibly painful strain in his nicest black pants. She reached for her spoon and swiped up a mouthful, bringing it to her lips. Sirius had to look away from this—to anyone but her. If he did, he would surely notice how nicely her breasts were set in the sweetheart neckline of the dress she wore—a dress the shade of blue that matched her eyes so accurately. He would be sure to notice the blush on the tops of her pale cheekbones, and the small freckle just on the ridge of her bottom lip. He would not be able to miss the thick black silk that shone so luminously in the pub lighting it appeared a blue, and the way it fell in navy rivulets down her neck and chest. Sirius truly had to look away. He had to slap himself, or take an ice cold shower. Unfortunately, he could do neither at this moment.

"What's wrong?" She asked him. He was forced to meet her eyes and study the way the wine had made them a shade of blue softer than he had ever seen before.

"Uh, nothing," he coughed in his hand, allowing his right foot to jump up and down on the old panels of wood on the floor. He needed distractions. Unfortunately, he saw Blanche scoop a spoonful of dessert and bring it toward his mouth.

"Come on. You're paying, after all. Might as well enjoy it," she shrugged, nudging his bottom lip with the cool silver of the utensil. He opened and let her feed him. _Merlin's shite,_ he thought. _If any of the Marauders saw me right now._ But thankfully the incredible flavor of the dessert provided some distraction for the time being.

Blanche watched as that carnivorous look in his eye seemed to die at the hands of the dessert she piled into his mouth. Eventually the tapping of his foot on the ground silenced, and he began to shake his shoulders to the song. Blanche didn't recognize the song that Sirius seemed so familiar with, but this was no surprise. At a young age, Sirius had submerged himself deeply into Muggle music purely to irritate his parents. Nowadays, he was acquainted with Muggle music as much as he was wizarding music.

Blanche's attention snapped back to him as the wooden chair screamed beneath him as he pushed outward. Instead of heading to the bar for another rum or something of that ilk, Sirius stood close to her with his hand extended.

"Come on. It's time for a dance," he offered. Blanche looked skeptically at his hand.

"I hate dancing. It reminds me of my ballroom lessons," she then looked away from it.

"I also was forced to take ballroom classes, but that sort of dancing wasn't like what everyone else is doing here. _These_ people are dancing. _The ballroom lessons_ were not," he explained his thoughts. "Now come dance with me."

"I don't know this song. How can I dance to a song I don't know?"

"It's called Maggie May. Now you know it," he informed. He pushed his hand closer to her once again. "Birthday," he repeated. She reluctantly accepted and let him drag her from her seat. She felt so formal and stiff in his hands at first; he smoothed his palms down her waist and almost shook her. She seemed to get his message, and Sirius felt her posture dip leisurely; she even shrunk an inch or so as she gave up the rigid stance.

"That's better," he said under his voice. He nudged her right foot with his left foot, indicating it was time to begin the steps. She was wildly unfamiliar with this dance—it was nothing like the many she had learned in ballroom lessons, like the Viennese Waltz and the Foxtrot. In spite of its unfamiliarity to her, it was the easiest dance she had ever done before. It was all loose and simple—a twirl, a couple steps, a spin, and a sway. There was no order to it; it was just limbs and laughs.

And the easiest part about it was the way everything floated away for a short time during that dance. The weights and burdens had become so natural to her she didn't notice them anymore; however, she did notice when they vanished into the air. For a moment, she didn't see the stern lines of age in her father's pale face. For a moment, she didn't see the shaking body of Miss Tully as she wailed over her brother's gravestone. As Sirius looked down at her and grinned, it reminded her of the few times her mother had smiled at her when she was very little. She felt protected by someone—truly loved by someone. And the best part about it was that Sirius' grin didn't fade away like a cloud floating past the moon; her mother's smiles were only ever seconds long, but Sirius' didn't end. He looked so completely happy, whereas her mother's smiles were always veiled in a deep and stagnant sorrow.

Blanche couldn't hear the song change when it did. Her mind couldn't pay attention to any other senses—her ears couldn't identify the slower song that approached, her nose couldn't pin the magnetic and wintery scent that leapt from Sirius, and her sense of touch had long been mushed into this singular embrace of unidentifiable limbs that were meant to fit together. Blanche's mind was far too busy dealing with the newfound lightness of her mind. It was stressful almost not having the memories there, and Sirius caught a watery flash of worry sail across the cornflower blue iris of her eyes. He'd never seen her cry, and he didn't expect tears to leave her eyes, but he'd never seen her so near such a present sorrow. His right hand tangled in the silken locks of ink black hair and nudged her forehead into the hard planes of his chest. He'd never seen her as short before, but now as her arms were only high enough to wrap around his waist, he realized she was a wisp of a woman—half a foot shorter than him and no more than eight stone soaking wet.

Blanche felt a guilt pair with the worry; how could she be so inconsiderate to _forget_ about Talbot? Miss Tully? Mrs. and Mr. Tully? Her father's dissatisfaction with her? Her mother's bruises? The Dark Marks scattered across the night skies of Europe? The Muggles dead? The Muggleborn dead? The blood-traitors dead? All the deaths and unhappiness and sorrow were _hers,_ and she didn't have the right to let them off the leash. She shared blood with monsters and love with ghosts, and she didn't have the privilege to forget that.

She stepped away from Sirius and walked to her seat at the table. She reached for the bill and pulled her wallet out of the small white purse she'd taken with her on the date. Sirius' brow knit together and he watched her hands shake minutely as she tried and failed to open her purse. He went to his knees so he could meet her eyes—even seem shorter to her finally.

"Blanche," he muttered, taking her hands in his. He held them until they stopped shaking. She looked straight into him—the dark hair that curled in gentle turns at his neck, the graphite grey eyes shrouded in long lashes, the stained pink lips, the dark brow, the hard jaw, the scratch of freshly-shaven skin on his structured cheeks. She had another reason to cry now—he was so beautiful and this appreciation wasn't even strictly objective anymore.

Old habits made him slip a handful of galleons out of his pocket without even looking at the check, and he pulled Blanche out of her seat and kept her tightly confined under his arm. They left the restaurant and emptied into the thinning streets of Carkitt Market. There was now a privacy to the market under the night sky; the street lamps shed light onto the empty cobblestone turns and trails.

"What is it?" He asked her gently when the began to walk. Neither were sure if they went in the right direction, but they didn't mind much. They were both quite familiar with breaking curfew at school.

"It's nothing," she answered. Her distant and monotonous tone was all too familiar; she had hardened to her normal self some time between sitting in her seat at the restaurant and emptying into the street.

"Stop it, Blanche. Don't do this," he urged.

"Do what?"

"Deaden. Please," he pled. It was like she had coagulated; in the pub she was an open wound of fresh blood pouring onto the floor, but the cold night air had sealed the wound and allowed it to scab over. "I am your best friend. You can tell me."

They both shared a similar line of thought after his words. Best friend? What were they? Blanche almost thought of him as a lover, but without the act that made lovers? Could two be lovers without sex? Could emotional lovers be something? Was there something in between best friends and lovers?

"No," she stiffened. And the rest of the night collapsed into silence as they Disapparated back to the Shrieking Shack. From there they took the long passage back to the Whomping Willow, threw themselves beneath the borrowed Cloak of Invisibility, then crept up to the Gryffindor common room. When both Sirius and Blanche were sixteen they had taken Apparition courses offered at Hogwarts; Sirius had waited a week after Blanche's seventeenth birthday to go to the Department of Magical Transportation with her, where they'd both received their Licenses to Apparate.

They sat beside one another on the sofa closest to the fire. It seemed to warm them both, in more ways than one. Whilst they both looked into the flames that had been reduced into orange-laced logs, Sirius felt a few small fingers slip into his palm. He looked at them and tightened his hand around them. His eyes met the profile of her face and he admired its stoney beauty unabashedly—the plump, pink flare of her lips, the shadow cast below her porcelain cheekbones, the smooth and straight bridge of her nose, the long ashes as dark as coal.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked her in a dense but soft voice, like his question was just the shell and within it was so much more. He watched her eyes flicker toward him, and the arch in her brow softened into straightness.

Before the worry of letting go of the heavy memories, and before the shame she experienced for letting go of them, perhaps there was a single and small moment of bliss. Greys and blacks faded into light and she felt like she was in Lily's world. She knew she couldn't live there, but she was just looking out of the window of her black house to see the color of Lily's world. Could she glimpse again? She nodded.

Very slowly, Sirius took his open hand and placed it on her shoulder that was farthest from him. She tilted her head toward him as his large hand crept up the bare skin of her collarbones and her neck. He'd never touched her there, and he didn't know someone so icy in disposition could feel as warm as she did under his hands. His fingers met the ball of her jaw, and gently he pulled her face closer to his. As her eyes met his he detected a bit of unknowingness, and he knew the same was in his eyes only in a different manner. Sirius had kissed plenty of girls, but Blanche was hardly a girl to him anymore. She was everything to him—she always was.

But Blanche owned a different unknowingness. Not only was Sirius so much to her, but he was also the first boy to ever kiss her. He was the first to hold her hand, the first to hug her, the first to dance—and _really_ dance—with her. Everything new that came with adulthood and womanhood came through him, and here he was about to give her something new that could only be truly enjoyed between a young woman and a young man who were someplace between best friends and lovers.

In a final, hesitant action, Sirius' lips pressed to hers. It was almost unmoving at first—like jumping into waters and getting used to it for a bit without actually _swimming._ But slowly, with practice Sirius barely had any hold on, his lips moved against hers. He was so achingly tentative and suddenly unsure—it was like all of those girls before had been in preparation for her, but they still weren't enough.

Blanche tightened her fingers around his and began, in attempt, to move her mouth with his. The movement was like setting a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet to flames by bringing a match to one corner. It started slow and small, but soon it started eating away the script that covered the page.

Sirius sighed against her and clenched his eyes shut. She was so warm and self-doubting; he loved this hidden fragment of her so much it hurt him. She was just this curious but hesitant girl made of fire.

Blanche opened her mouth to his, and it started feeling natural. Her mind was no longer clouded with uncertainty as his tongue skimmed her bottom lip. And when her mind cleared, it sprang anew with the old tune: Talbot, mother, father, Tullys, death, sorrow, anger, bruises.

Blanche turned her face from him and looked away, tugging her hand from his. She finally began to cry a name Sirius had never heard before: "Talbot," she wept into her hands.

"Who?" He exclaimed. He reached for her instinctively, sliding a hand down her long hair and trying to pull her closer with the other. "What is it, Blanche?"

She didn't reply—she only cried wildly in her hands. Her sobs were muffled by her palms, and Sirius thought he could cry too. Her cries were so painful each sound was like a stab at the heart. "Who's Talbot?" He asked again.

"Don't—" she choked on her words. "Don't say his name."

"Why? What happened?" He inquired. One hand moved to sit on her waist and pull her near him, but she squirmed and tugged away. Before Sirius knew it, she was running toward the staircase that led to the girl's chambers. He bolted off the sofa and followed her as quickly as he could, but by the time he reached her she was already incased within the protective spell of the staircase that Lily had set in her fifth year. He reached in to test the air, but was met with a small shock that ran only through his arm.

"Blanche!" He shouted for her, hearing her footsteps on the stairs. She never answered.

* * *

 **QUESTIONS:**

 **... To Lil Miss Sunshine 14: Thank you so very much! Regarding Blanche's relationship with Remus, I can tell you he will heavily feature in the next chapter, as well as subsequent chapters. I already have a boatload of chapters written, but just for you I decided to go in and expand on Remus a bit because he is one of the more complex characters, in my opinion. Regarding Blanche's namesake, I would think that after so many years between Blanche of Lancaster (mid-fourteenth century) and the current era, the magical status of many people would be lost in time (with the exception of Morgana, Cliodna, etc.) and whether or not Blanche of Lancaster was a Muggle would not really matter. HOWEVER, even if Blanche of Lancaster was a known Muggle, that wouldn't be entirely uncharacteristic of Lavinia to name her daughter after her (you will see why in much later chapters). To your final question-yes, Blanche's father is Rabastan, which makes Bellatrix her aunt by marriage. Thank you so much for your questions!**


	4. Life-Changing Letters

**I know this chapter is short and I apologize for it, but after this there are essentially no short chapters whatsoever, so don't fret! The following chapter is a big plot chapter, but it's not the start of a massive climb in conflict. The first fifteen-ish chapters are mostly character and romance development, whilst the major commotion begins around chapter twenty. Anyway, I hope you enjoy... And _please_ comment, favorite, and follow! As always, Q&A is at the bottom!**

* * *

 _Early December 1977_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Sirius and Blanche sat at opposite corners of the table at breakfast. Between them sat Peter, Lily, James, Remus, and a few of Lily's friends that Blanche had never grown to like. Nowadays, their few exchanged words were short and those which would be shared between acquaintances. No one asked; if they did, both typically responded with a private and foul-worded retort. Sirius had spent his last week's attention on Holly Butters, who was a friend of Lily's. He needed something to distract his mind from the rolling thoughts of the enigma Talbot; he assumed the worst—the boyfriend at home on whom she had cheated with Sirius; the boyfriend she'd never mentioned. It really wouldn't be all that shocking—Blanche was very private and she never gossiped.

Blanche felt a rancorous dislike toward Holly Butters, who had once made efforts to befriend Blanche—all to no avail, of course. Blanche initially found her vapid and forgettable, but Lily always remarked that Holly was 'optimistic and silly.' It didn't help that Sirius had chosen someone as dull as _her,_ and it _really_ didn't help that she repeatedly made an effort to sliver in between James and Sirius, which set off James more often than not. He never objected in her presence, but when she left the room James tended to speak rather badly of her. Blanche usually pitched in on this, and Sirius rarely made an effort to defend her.

Blanche startled when Remus Lupin slid a piece of bacon over the table and onto her plate. She looked at him oddly for his unnecessary gesture. "Have it. You look like you need it," he grinned.

Blanche glared at him. She hadn't been sleeping much lately, but that didn't give others the right to comment on her looks. "Thanks," she responded sarcastically.

"I don't mean it like that. You're just looking a little pale, is all," he shrugged. She bit the inside of her lips and accepted the bacon into her hand. He tilted his brown-haired head toward Holly and Sirius, then raised his brow. "I reckon that's what has you in a foul mood?"

"No," she immediately rejected. "I'm used to Sirius' philandering by now, don't worry."

"Is it philandering…or recovering?" Remus asked ominously whilst objectively observing Sirius pay meager attention to Holly.

"Sorry?" Blanche asked.

"You think he's with her because he wants to be, or because he feels like he needs to be?"

"Remus, could you form a lucid thought please?" Blanche asked irritably. "He doesn't _have_ to be with anyone."

"Maybe he does, Blanche. I don't think he wants to be with Holly—I just think he has to recover from what you did to him… And you and I both know Padfoot—the only thing he knows is girls, so I reckon that's also the only way he knows how to recover."

Blanche screwed her face into a scowl. Who was he to treat her like she'd wounded Sirius and say—what—that owed him an _apology?_ "And what would you know about it? Why—"

"You don't think he kept me up all night with it?" Remus laughed. "Don't get me wrong—I'm not trying to say you're to blame for anything. I'm just trying to make some sense of it."

Blanche unwound her lips and sighed. She always found it was hard to be angry with Remus, as he often spoke with a profound and undeniable candor.

"All I'm saying," Remus continued, "is that _I believe_ he's with Holly because he needs a way to forget about what happened that night. Because that kid loves you with all his heart and he almost had you… You've got to admit—that's rough."

Blanche looked at him for a few moments in admiration, and wondered why she had chosen to make best friends with Sirius rather than him. Then a glance at Sirius' massively grinning face and a sound of his barking laugh shook her with reality—there didn't seem to be a better answer than the fact that it was _Sirius._ No one would ever match him.

"Why don't you sit with me in Potions class?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. Remus cleared his throat and tried to casually look down the table. If Sirius saw Blanche and Remus sitting together in class there was a good chance he'd blow a fuse. He could go without receiving a beating from Sirius; however, Sirius wasn't really speaking to her anymore so he supposed it was alright.

"I'm already shite enough at Potions. If I sat next to you, I'd look even worse," he laughed. He saw the flicker of a smile on the corner of her lips.

"I can help you. A lot of times the textbook is a bit… well, wrong. I can see it because I know the ingredients. If you sit with me, I can help you—if you'd like," she offered.

"Sure. That sounds good," he smiled.

* * *

"Remus, how does wolfsbane potion taste?" Blanche asked the boy sitting next to her in the Gryffindor Common Room. Her textbook, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , was open to the 'A' chapter. The cushion on which Remus sat wrinkled as he visibly stiffened. She had asked quietly and the room wasn't very crowded, but he was forever vigilant about the matter.

With Remus' approval, Sirius had told Blanche about Remus' lycanthropy in Fifth Year, when she grew angry with him for sneaking off without word once a month. Eventually she stopped speaking to him, and after a month of silence Sirius had effectively been reduced to a depressed curmudgeon. After James spent three hours one night defending Sirius' request to tell Blanche, Remus relented and told Sirius he could tell her. After she found out, she was nothing but…normal. When Remus had approached her about it, she stopped him and said only: 'I know monsters—you're not one of them.'

"Atrocious," he answered.

"I imagine so. Aconitum is allegedly quite bitter," she sighed.

"And you can't put sugar in it. Tampers with the potion."

"I imagine so. Pity it is such a tricky one. Even if I made it, I'd be afraid for its taker."

Wolfsbane Potion was fresh on the market; it was recently invented by an old Hogwarts graduate by the name of Damocles Belby. Slughorn raved about him quite often. Blanche assumed very few took the potion, as it was so state-of-the-art it carried weighty risks. Remus' father, however, had managed to get his hands on some from his high-ranking position in the wizarding world.

"You have no idea," he shook his head. She closed the textbook and looked at the scar that dragged across his profile.

"Can I ask you a question about your… lycanthropy?" She asked carefully and scientifically.

"I suppose," he answered hesitantly.

"You can remember what you did after your transformation, right?" She asked him. He nodded solemnly. "What's it like when you do remember?"

Remus paused, thinking for the right words to describe it. "It's like looking through a two-way glass from the darkened side. I remember what I've done and what it looks like, and I can see it through my side of the glass. But on the other side is me after I've transformed, and all that monster can see is itself. Everything from the other side of the mirror is washed away. It's like I'm not even there.

This is all without the wolfsbane. With it, it isn't a looking glass—it's just glass. I can see it and it can see me. But there's still no familiarity between me and it. Every full moon, wolfsbane or no, I disappear and it appears."

Blanche paused in thought, wondering what it was like to see oneself disappear once a month—just at the kiss of a moonbeam. Every word he spoke was riddled in hatred. He hated himself for it as much as he hated the monster he turned into.

"Is that why you've never had a girlfriend?" She asked him. It was of no interest to someone else, just curiosity that asked the question. Did he hate himself so much he would not permit love? _Sounds familiar,_ a horrid voice in her mind added.

Blanche had always felt an unspoken kinship with Remus. There was some monstrosity sitting deep down in both of them, and neither had any way of rooting it out. In the coalition of the Marauders, Remus was the quietest—the most thoughtful. And Blanche had always had an admiration for Remus in _that_ was how he lived with his monster—by being kind and unselfish. That was where Blanche and he parted ways; Blanche lived with her monster by being glacial, stiff, and unwelcoming.

"I can't ever marry, so there's no point to having a girlfriend. The whole point of dating is to find someone right to marry, isn't there? So what's the point?" He shrugged. She tried to think that the way he lived was a horrible way to live, but she realized the way she lived was not all that different. Of course she wasn't a werewolf, but she did think similarly.

"What if the point of dating is just to love someone and have somebody love you?" She questioned. It wasn't necessarily a question directed at him, but he answered nonetheless with a bitter chuckle.

"How can someone love a creature that could tear them apart without a second thought once a month?"

"But you're not that creature. You said you disappear."

"I do, but instead of me _it_ lives. And any woman who's fool enough to see that as a risk worth taking would be dead before she knew it."

The door opened and a letter landed on Blanche's lap as she let Remus' words tumble around in her stomach. Absentmindedly, she looked up to see the thrower. Shockingly enough, it was Sirius. He had his own letter in his hands.

"I was at the Owlery and Sulwen flew in. Thought I'd take it to you," he commented before walking away to the other side of the room. Blanche read the name of the sender and almost grimaced: Rabastan Radulf Lestrange. He never sent her letters—only mother. She was his mouthpiece.

"Who's it from, Padfoot?" Remus asked his friend from across the room. Before opening her letter, Blanche looked at him from across the room. His brows with knit together as he used a letter opener to examine the contents of the envelope.

"Ministry of Magic… International Magic Office of Law," he muttered in response.

"Oh no… What'd you do now, my old friend?" Remus laughed as Sirius unfolded the letter. Remus looked to Blanche as she turned the letter over in her hands. "What about you, Blanche?"

"The bane of my existence," she answered quietly.

"Who's that?" Remus inquired.

"Her father," Sirius answered.

"Oh," Remus frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"He's quite similar to my own father," Sirius answered. _Or worse. Much worse,_ Blanche added internally.

"I see," Remus raised his brow in understanding. "Well spill, Padfoot. What's it say?"

Sirius' eyes quickly read across the document, which had nothing to do with misbehavior but natural events.

 _Mr. Sirius Black,_

 _We are sorry to inform you that your uncle, Alphard Pollux Black, died on 29 November 1977. The following document is his will, which entitles you to a sum of his wealth. The aggregate of his leavings has been relocated from the Black family vault to your own._

 _Our condolences,_

 _The International Magic Office of Law_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Sirius excitedly flipped to the will enclosed within. He felt a bit sorry for his poor uncle, but he'd never been very close to him. He knew he was a kind man, but he was also a quiet man. He never spoke to Sirius' defense, nor did he ever speak to the defense of any other Blacks. He had never married, never fathered any children, and never had he made much of an impact on anything, save Sirius' vault at Gringotts. Sirius supposed his true nature was revealed in death.

"Merlin's shite!" Sirius cried his favorite curse.

"What is it?!" Remus ran over to him.

"My uncle's passed. He's left me half of his wealth!" Sirius jumped on his toes. "Over three hundred thousand galleons!" He exclaimed.

"Padfoot, be honest now—"

"Moony!" Sirius shook him by the shoulders. "Read it for yourself!" He stuck the letter and will in Remus' hands.

"I'm having Prongs take a look. He gets this legal shite," Remus trotted up the boy's chamber staircase and Sirius followed, whooping loudly with every step.

As their sounds cleared from the air, Blanche used Sirius' letter opener to retrieve the paper inside. She unfolded it, and grew a bit sick at her father's gnarled but formal script.

 _Blanche,_

 _In order to allow you to maintain your academic standard, I have kept news from you that I am now imparting at your mother's behest. As you know she comes from the House of Greengrass, and consequently has long carried the burden of her blood. An ancestor of the Greengrasses was placed under a blood malediction many decades ago, and the curse still carries. Your mother was ill through the months of October and November, and on 3 December she died. She wanted you to know that she loved you and wished me to inform you of the malediction upon her death. The funeral will be held 21 December; you will be out of school by then. I cannot retrieve you from the train station, but your Aunt Bellatrix has very kindly offered to do so in my stead. Please act kindly toward her, as I could easily have you retrieved by a housekeeper. She offers her condolences. Do not let this impact your marks; if it does, I will be grievously angry with you._

 _Best regards,_

 _Rabastan Radulf Lestrange_

Blanche let the letter fall to her lap in a swish of falling parchment. She looked to the fire cooking the room into a balmy, amber chamber. No more mother. No more frowns and partial smiles, no more bruised wrists and waists, no more 'Father said…' and 'Father told you to…'. No more mother.

There was an empty and icy stiffness in her for quite some time; it just sat there with her and inhibited her from moving. Blanche would have liked to move—perhaps to cry, or throw the letter into the fire, or run for Lily—but she couldn't. The last death she'd experienced had been Talbot's, but this was nothing like that. This was so removed from her she wasn't sure whether her mother or a stranger had died. Blanche was well aware her father was rather incapable of affection, attachment, or warmth, but he'd been the husband of Lavinia for twenty years. And still, he didn't seem to mind much at all that she had died.

She hadn't realized her eyes trained on the coals of the fire before her vision was obstructed by a tall form cast in black by the lack of light in the room. Only her eyes were permitted movement, and they flickered to the face of the blockage—Sirius. The delight of inheritance and wealth was left on his face like a ink fading from pages.

"Blanche, what is it?" He asked her. He knelt in front of her and reached for the letter, unfolding it. She looked straight ahead at nothing as his grey eyes skimmed over the words. When he got to the line of notice, he dropped the paper and instantly encased her in his arms. She instinctively reciprocated the gesture, placing her frozen face within the turn from his shoulder to his neck. He didn't say anything, nor did he apologize; Sirius only held her there for a very long time, trying to take her coldness away and sharing his warmth with her. She didn't cry at all; she only clenched her eyes shut against the collar of his dress shirt and repeatedly opened and closed fistfuls of his untucked and wrinkling shirt.

"Do you want me to go to the funeral with you?" He spoke finally, pulling away just a few inches to see her face. Her skin was even paler than usual, resembling the translucency of the ghosts who lingered the halls and staircases at Hogwarts.

"Your mother will be there," she shook her head. Ever since he ran away over a year ago, he'd avoided his mother at all costs. Neither could imagine what would happen if he ran into Walburga again, but he was willing to do it for her.

"I don't care."

"You should. She'll probably curse you," she answered in a weak voice.

"My mother isn't as great a witch as everyone thinks. I'm not scared of her."

"You don't have to do that Sirius. It will be all the people you hate—Sacred Twenty-Eight and all," she replied.

"Not true. You'll be there," he said. "And maybe Andromeda will be there too. You remember her?" He smiled comfortingly. She nodded at the thought of the grey-haired witch.

"I could use you there, but I don't want you to feel obligated to go."

"But I want to because I am obligated to go. You and I are family, and there's no way I'll miss your mother's funeral," he explained. "Plus, I'm not leaving you alone with all of those bloody maniacs."

"Thanks, Sirius," she smiled minutely. Her face still permitted little muscular response, but she was able to muster a sad, partial grin for him. He smiled back widely, reaching to place a kiss on her forehead. The night of Sirius' birthday had not been forgotten between them; however, it stood now like a wound healing over with fresh tissue, though still leaving a scar that was more pink than it was before.

* * *

 **QUESTIONS:**

 **... To Lil Miss Sunshine 14: Thank you for your comments so far! I love answering them ( : You actually don't know who Talbot is yet, and this character remains a mystery until chapter six or seven, I believe. I think the boy she met over the summer that you're referring to is the Highlander she talks about with Sirius and James in Chapter 1, and that was just a joke! Blanche has never had any romantic relationships. Typical her-she was just being sarcastic and making fun of them! I love Remus very much too, and he will come up here and then in later chapters. I don't believe Bellatrix will make a major appearance until much later, but I also very much look forward to her debut. Keep it up with the awesome questions!**


	5. Ill-Behaved Blood

**I am SO SORRY this took so long. If anyone is still reading... enjoy.**

* * *

The gardens were wet the day of the funeral. A silvery rainfall had fallen at dawn, and pearly dewdrops still sat on every blade of grass. Blanche heard Narcissa Malfoy complaining about the ruin of her shoes as a result of the weather.

The ceremony was short and callous, and no one cried aside from Andromeda Tonks. Sirius held her hand as she wept, taking the place of her husband who she had left behind at home for safety. Blanche would have liked if Sirius had sat next to her, but she knew her father would never permit that. He was angry enough with her for allowing him to accompany her.

Bellatrix had been overjoyed to see Sirius at the train station. In her extremely peculiar manner, she called Sirius her 'most sweet and handsome cousin' and kissed him on the cheek sloppily when she saw him. Blanche hardly spoke at all on the way to Upper Flagley; Bellatrix gushed about the Dark Lord's most recent successes in the Dark Rebellion, including the support of a band of giants he had earned in November. Blanche only piped up once, inquiring as to the state of Bellatrix's marriage to her uncle, Rodolphus.

"Quite well, I suppose," she answered hurriedly. "He's just a bit shrimpy, is all."

Blanche's uncle Rodolphus—her father's younger brother—was in fact a small man. And at that, rather unattractive as well. He and Rabastan looked nothing alike. It did not surprise Blanche in the slightest that Bellatrix seemed discontent with her marriage, as it was undoubtably arranged by Druella, Bellatrix's mother. These Pureblood marriages were not designed for physical attraction—only preserving purity.

When Walburga Black first saw Sirius embracing his brother, Regulus, inside Lestrange Grange just before the funeral procession began, she marched over to him and berated him for nigh on fifteen minutes without a pause for breath. Regulus was the one to stop her, as Sirius just stood there on the receiving end without anything to say. Blanche watched the encounter from her place beside her father; Regulus was an unusual boy—so unlike and like Sirius at the same time. He was almost parallel in handsomeness to Sirius, but there was an undeniable dullness in his eyes that made Sirius the brighter of the two. A passion for life was also lacking in his vigor and voice, which made him significantly less interesting. Before anything else he was a quiet follower, which enabled him to become something of an ideal son to Walburga and Orion. However to the parents he had never amounted to Sirius' innate excellency.

Before Sirius had 'gone rotten,' as Walburga said, he was truly the brightest star in her night sky. Exceedingly handsome since youth and somehow becoming more so by each week, naturally intelligent, infinitely ambitious, courageous as a lion, and sharp as a whip, she had the highest of hopes for him. But then he'd met the 'cursed traitor Potter' and she'd tried her hardest to keep him within her reach—all by severe means. She'd ordered Orion to bring the belt to him, raided his room more than thrice a month, locked him in a coatroom, threatened to stop paying his tuition, and forced him to go to more Pureblood gatherings and balls than was healthy. None had worked. And so now she settled on Regulus—her younger son who was continually shadowed and dwarfed by Sirius' former prospect.

Blanche walked to the open casket in which her mother lay. She looked at her with a removed scrutiny—her body was rendered gaunt by the illness she had for two months suffered, and her once lovely auburn hair had dulled and silvered at the roots. The black dress she had been put in was too big for her as she had lost most of her weight before her death, and her rings were evidently too large for her emaciated fingers. The beauty that had once thrived in her arched brow, thick lips, and swanlike neck was more than gone, and in its place was nothing but a misshapen corpse.

Blanche left the casket and found a place next to Sirius. She kept her hand around his arm and held his muscled forearm so tightly he was sure he'd have bruises come next morning. She felt her other hand become embraced in a warm palm, and looked to see Andromeda holding her hand. The birth of her daughter and a rumored miscarriage had thickened her face and imprinted wrinkling on skin, but she was still beautiful. Her smile was heavy but weight-bearing, and Blanche felt a little lighter when she took her hand.

Sirius and Blanche sat on the wet grass after everyone had gone inside. He watched Blanche as she lowered her back to the ground, allowing the drops of rain to soak into her hair and dress. She kicked off her shoes and extended her hand to his. He took it and held it on both of his hand, studying it like a pilgrim did a long-awaited shrine. Her eyes followed the neatly-maintained garden that enclosed the large tract of grass. Most of the flowers were of dark shade—Queen of the Night tulips, black dahlias, chocolate cosmos, and black hollyhocks.

"How can a garden be all black?" She asked absentmindedly.

"We're at Lestrange Grange. That's how," he replied. She nodded with a small smile, and pointed toward a grove weeping willows at the back of the gardens that was hardly noticeable amongst the larger, taller trees that composed the back wall of the estate.

"Back there, beneath the willows, are a few patches of Lily of the Valley. I planted them one summer when I missed Lily," she said. "I never told her."

"You should. She'd love to know that."

"I feel it should stay a private delicacy of mine," she replied thoughtfully. "I've always wanted to rip all of the darkness out of this house. If it was ever abandoned by my family, I'd take it for myself and clean it up. Put up new drapes and replace the rugs. Maybe even build a little guest house out within the willow grove."

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you sound rather domestic, Blanche," Sirius smiled. She shrugged and tried to pull him down on the grass beside her, but his attention was instantly jolted away from her when he caught a flash of icy light cross the gardens.

"Vermillious!"

"Protego!"

Blanche looked out to see Orion Black walking hastily toward Sirius and her with his wand directed at them. A very sour scowl was placed between his nose and his chin. Blanche grew angry instantly upon seeing him, as he hadn't been present for the funeral. The only reason he came was to punish Sirius upon hearing that he had shown his face in front of his mother.

Blanche watched as the vermillion sparks that flew from Orion's wand turned and headed toward him. With a defensive jab of his wand, Orion flicked away the sparks. Orion's nostrils flared as he glowered at his eldest son, who was standing with his wand in his hand. A moment of silence passed, before Sirius glared and shouted: "Everte Statum!"

As Orion flipped backward and landed on the ground with a thud, Rabastan was running onto the grasses with his wand prepared for combat. Blanche reached for her wand which was tucked into her stockings, but Rabastan got to her before she could curse him.

Wordlessly, he cast the Incarcerous Spell on her and Blanche instantly felt her hands bind together with a magical shackle.

Sirius ran to her and raked his brain before remembering and muttering, "Relashio." Blanche felt the shackles melt away into air.

Rabastan raised his wand again and Orion got to his feet. Both opened their mouths, but before they could cast: "Fianto Duri!" Blanche temporarily protected the small area in which she and Sirius stood. She watched one of Rabastan's bolts of color fly toward them, but it dissipated into thin air when it came within a small length of them.

"Stupefy!" Sirius set on his father, and Orion instantly dropped to the ground once again in the blast of shock.

As the protective charm she had set faded steadily from the air surrounded them, Blanche looked to the gargoyles that sat along the balconies above the manor's back entrance. They were ancient, gnarled creatures, with drooping brows and wings tucked into their scaled backs. She held out her wand to them, and Rabastan followed the direction of it. "Piertotum Locomotor!"

The gargoyles slowly cracked through their old and crusted shells of moss and mold. Their giant stone wings opened behind them and their pointed ears twitched in awakening. Several began to climb down from their elevated placement on the balconies, accidentally crunching and crushing the rock beneath their wide, taloned paws.

"Oppugno!" Blanche completed, pointing her wand to her father on the field. The creatures instantly leapt from their place into the air, flying beneath thick wings of granite. They swept and dove in the air, gnashing their teeth as they neared Rabastan in their oddly elegant flight.

He set each gargoyle to flying stone and whips of fire, but the task was quite time consuming. Blanche believed it was safe to say at this point that Lestrange Grange had far too many gargoyles. "Bombarda Maxima!" Rabastan blasted the last of them from the air.

"Expelli—" Sirius began, but it was too late.

"Expelliarmus!" Rabastan finished first, sending Sirius' wand meters from him. Blanche prepared her wand and pointed it toward him.

"Serpensortia!" She cried, sending a long and thick snake of viridian green from the tip of her wand. It went straight for Rabastan with a flick of its tail and a hiss of its tongue. It lodged for his foot with toxic fang, and Rabastan leapt away just before it could get him.

"Avada Kedavra!" Rabastan quickly cursed the snake. A dense flash of green shot from his wand and hit the snake, sending it writhing in the grass in death. Blanche became distracted by the lifeless creature lying in the grass, torn from life at the whip of a wand.

She raised her wand when she saw her father coming closer in her peripheral vision, but it was too late because the words were already leaving his mouth as she parted her lips: "Imperio."

Blanche froze still. She felt like she was made of rock as she stood more rigid than ever before. She could feel everything in her heart—the fear, the shock, the anger, and the disloyalty. Her own father.

"Blanche!" Sirius cried, running for his wand.

Rabastan sent the wand flying too far away before Sirius could reach it. Blanche's eyes turned in their sockets as she saw the wand land in the patch of Lily of the Valley beneath the willows. "Immobulus!" Rabastan froze Sirius.

"Orion! Help!" Blanche screamed from the top of her lungs, summoning anyone who was less heartless than Rabastan, more merciful than him—that was nearly anyone at this funerary event. But everyone was inside aside from Orion, who lay stupefied in the grass. "Andromeda!" Blanche cried as loudly as she could.

"Stop shouting," Rabastan ordered, and Blanche instantly closed her mouth. The screams for help were locked in her chest and banging against her ribs for release, but her body wouldn't allow it. Her body wasn't her own; in that moment, she belonged to Rabastan.

Sirius' immobility faded and his mouth opened, as it was the only part of him that was welcome to movement. "She's your daughter!"

Rabastan laughed, watching Sirius as he shook free his limbs and managed to take painful steps in the direction of his wand. "Blanche, raise your wand to Sirius."

"Father!" Blanche cried. She knew water was welling at the rims of her eyes as her arm raised to Sirius, wand pointed directly at him. Sirius looked to her for mercy with his hands up in surrender, acting before thinking. "Please don't, father," she began to sob. She clenched her eyes shut and felt a tear snake down her cheek.

"Stop crying," he ordered, and Blanche gasped as the water seemed to sink back in her eyes. Her cries were pushed back into her throat, joining the reserve of sounds she would make if she could.

"Try and fight it," Sirius offered pleadingly. She watched his hands tremble in the air, and for his sake she tried, but it only hurt. Every muscle she tried to move at her command burned with a thousand fires.

"Fighting it will only hurt her," Rabastan informed him matter-of-factly. Blanche gave up her trials and sunk into the curse, saving her strength for when—or if—she ever came out of it. "Blanche, curse him."

A short and cold breath left her mouth. She tried her hardest to shake her head in refusal, which only set an excruciating pain to her neck and jaw. "I won't—" she forced out, gasping for breath under the pain. The words leaving her mouth set her brain on fire, and if she wasn't directed by Rabastan she would surely crumple into pain and unconsciousness. She felt liquid rush into her nose and trickle onto her skin, and a similar sensation in her ears.

"You _will,_ " Rabastan urged, clamping Blanche's mouth shut. "If you keep fighting it, it will kill you."

"I don't—" she whimpered out before a scream ripped through her head. It went beyond pain—it was like her brain was imploding within its skull. She began to seize and cough, blood sputtering from her mouth.

"Stop fighting it," Rabastan finally ordered, and Blanche could no longer summon anything to fight it.

"It's alright, Blanche," she heard Sirius speak lowly to her from his openhanded position several meters from her. "Just do what he says."

A droplet of blood dripped from her mouth to her chest as she inquired: "Which curse?" The curse Blanche had been set to permitted this question; Rabastan had never said which.

"The Cruciatus Curse," he answered hesitantly, as though deciding upon the sweetest dish at a dinner table.

"It's okay," Sirius accepted it, keeping his eyes on her. "Just don't fight it anymore," he told her, but Blanche couldn't succumb. She tried desperately to release her wand from her grip, but the sensation only sunk like poison into her skin. She felt her skin split and blood flow from her hand's grip on the wand. It trickled down her forearm and the red rivulet felt like acid on her skin; her chest screamed and her head was again swathed in fire.

"No!" She released some strangled sound from her mouth—the best she could do. With her lips came a wispy gush of blood, and it burned down her neck to her chest. The ruby necklace she wore was engulfed in the blood as it slipped down her collarbones; she heard the jewel crack as it came into contact with the acidic blood and the gold of the chain melt over her skin.

"Stop _now!"_ Sirius yelled at her, and his words nearly had more sway over those of her father's.

"Use the Cruciatus Curse on him!" Rabastan shouted, irritated by the fight she was putting up.

"Crucio!" Blanche cast involuntarily, feeling the surge of red fire leave her wand and penetrate Sirius.

Sirius instantly collapsed to the floor, screaming at the pain. It was like a hundred knives piercing his skin—a million teeth sinking into every inch of him. His eyes and ears no longer functioned under the pain, and he could swear his brain was melting if he could form a coherent sensation. All he knew was pain. He wasn't anything or anyone—he was just excruciating pain and that was all there was.

His cries ripped through her heart like a whip and she tried fighting it again, but the pain only reversed onto her when she did. He still writhed and she still stood with her wand pointed to him. There was nothing but black, and the only thing holding her up was Rabastan's curse in that moment.

"Finite Incantatum!" A voice sliced through the pain, and there was finally white. She still dripped with blood and soreness, but she would not yet submit to the faint that awaited her. It seemed quiet suddenly without Sirius' screams, and she fell over herself toward him, following the sound of his gasps. She collapsed on Sirius, barely holding up her head and dripping blood all over him.

"I'm so sorry," the words fell from every part of her with what energy she had left.

"It wasn't you," he breathed, reaching for whatever he could grab. He took a tuft of her hair in his hands and brought her closer, allowing him to encase her in his arms. If Blanche had the strength to move her neck, she'd have looked to see Walburga Black kicking Rabastan's wand away with a screech. Somehow, their savior had been Walburga—of all people.

"That's my son, you bastard!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. Her voice faded away as Blanche's sensations dripped away.

"Hold on to me," Sirius breathed through his frailty. She wrapped hands around what she could grab—his neck and his shoulder, and she felt him pull her so close to him her ribs hurt.

Sirius extended a long arm upward and tilted his head, finding his wand with his eyes. "Accio," he grunted, feeling the wand find its place in his hand before releasing a strained breath.

And then he somehow summoned the strength to Apparate them.


	6. Newly-Estranged Lestrange

**As always, sorry this took eons. Inspiration for me is purely ebb and flow, but I try my hardest to update you when I start working again. Although I will admit, I have about 70k words thus far on this story and have done so poorly to bring them to you! I will really try to keep you updated regularly. You also may notice a shift from American standard spelling - British standard spelling, it's because I moved to the U.K. and what I produce for school and work has to be in the latter, so my keyboard and mind has adjusted like so. Hope this doesn't cause too much confusion. I'd also like to note (if I could I would edit) that the previous chapter is missing a date + location, and seeing it's a new locations I can tell you here: it takes place in _Late December 1977_ at _Lestrange Grange in Upper Flagley, Yorkshire, England._ Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

 _Late December 1977_

 _12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England_

Blanche's stomach heaved at the sensation of the Apparition. In the state she was in, the last thing she needed was to begin vomiting up her breakfast. She tried desperately to get on her hands and knees, but her body gave in and she submitted to nauseous coughs and heaves upon the floorboards.

"Blanche," she heard a sputtering semblance of Sirius' voice sound from beside her. She turned her head and saw Sirius' chest heaving; his dress shirt reddened with blood quickly as his fingers fumbled with the small buttons of his shirt, trying to expose the skin that had been splinched.

Blanche forced herself up on her hands to lean over him, tugging the shirt off of him to expose the plane of his chest that was ripped apart. He'd left a fair amount of skin and tissue behind at Lestrange Grange and the blood was oozing steadily from the deep wound.

"Essence of Dittany," she muttered, looking into his wincing eyes and grabbing his forearm tightly. She had to keep him awake or else he'd succumb to the injury. "Where is it? It's got to be in this place somewhere."

"Kreacher," he coughed. Blanche ran to the door and out of the room, sprinting through the dark corridors of the Black family house. Her frailty had become second in priority as Sirius lay dying on his bedroom floor; she would faint of exhaustion and pain later.

"Kreacher!" She screamed from the top of her lungs, but released a hoarse wail instead. She tried again, and managed to summon the house-elf. He came out of the master chamber with a feather duster in his hand.

"Misses Lestrange—Kreacher is glad to see you again. Have you brought young Master Black back from his filthy delusion? Kreacher is so glad—so glad," he spoke in his lurching, quiet voice. "Misses Lestrange does not look alright, has she been hurt badly now—"

"Kreacher, Master Black's been splinched. He needs Essence of Dittany," she gasped.

"Oh, follow Kreacher, Misses Lestrange. Follow Kreacher," he tugged the end of her dress and she followed on his disproportionately large heels. His steps were small and not fast enough; she considered picking him up and carrying him. However, a medicinal armoire was close and Kreacher counted the drawers from the top. He pointed to one with a crooked finger.

"Essence of Dittany. Four drawers down from the top is the Dittany," he told her. "Kreacher likes to help," he commented self-appreciatively.

"Thank you, Kreacher," she muttered as she fumbled through the various essences and ointments within the drawer. She found the Essence of Dittany in a small maroon bottle of glass, and ran off with it. "Bring Sirius some water, Kreacher!"

"Yes, Misses Lestrange. Kreacher will," Blanche heard Kreacher obey and hobble off.

Blanche ran back into Sirius' bedroom—finding him with his eyes closed and stripes of blood stretching from neck to navel. A pool had formed on the wooden floor between his outstretched arm and his abdomen. With shaking hands, Blanche poured a steady stream from the bottle onto the roaring split in his skin. She saw Sirius' eyes shoot open as the essence bubbled over the wound and closed it slowly. Clearly he had not yet lost consciousness, and the pain had brought him entirely back with shouting and cursing.

"Kreacher is here, Misses Lestrange. You must open the door and invite Kreacher in. Young Master Black has hexed the room," the voice squeaked from outside the door.

"Annihilare," Blanche said to the door and it swung open. "Come in now."

"Kreacher will, Misses Lestrange," he walked in with a glass of water as large as his torso.

"Kreacher, I need to hold him down. Can you close the wound with the Essence of Dittany?" She asked. Kreacher's yellow eyes widened but he consented, twitching his bat-like ears. Blanche pinned down Sirius' arms as he writhed on the floor. Blanche wondered if Kreacher's unhurried application of the Dittany was intentional—Kreacher did not like Sirius much. The time Kreacher took gave Sirius the opportunities to nearly rid Blanche from her hold on him, but eventually the wound scarred over with fresh, pink skin and he calmed down.

"Kreacher is helpful," Kreacher complimented himself as he capped the Dittany. "Young Master Black is so very reckless."

"Fuck off, Kreacher," Sirius mumbled on the floor. His eyes were still closed, but a steady breath left his mouth.

"Kreacher will report your foul mouth to Mistress Black, Young Master Black. Kreacher saved your life, but you are still nasty!" Kreacher exclaimed. "Still the nasty blood traitor…" he murmured as he left the room with the dittany.

"Shut the door," Sirius sighed as he sat up on his forearms. Blanche's desperate spout of energy was finally failing her, and she barely had the strength to kick the door shut with her bare foot. He managed to get to his knees and put his arms beneath Blanche's shoulder blades and knees. With a heaving breath, he carried her up and placed her on his bed—which was still unmade as no one had had access to his room since he'd run away. She felt her eyes shut in a final moment of peace and comfort—the moment she closed them she finally felt some of the pain subside. "Don't fall asleep yet. I need to get the blood off you," he insisted.

She heard the door open then close, then barely made out Sirius and Kreacher spewing foul words at one another in the corridor. The room darkened and her sight was all violet—she was slipping away into unauthorised sleep. But soon she felt a wet cloth on her face and her nose twitched at the sensation.

"What did Young Master Black do to hurt Misses Lestrange?" Kreacher asked himself as he prodded at the blood dried on her neck. "Always messy, he is. Kreacher hates his messes."

"Well Kreacher's job is to fix the messes Young Master Black brings home. So shut up and help her."

After a moment of Kreacher muttering to himself about how horrible Sirius was to him, Kreacher suggested: "Should Kreacher get one of Mistress Black's nightgowns? Misses Lestrange's dress is so horribly stained. She shouldn't sleep in it, Kreacher thinks."

"Yes," Sirius agreed thoughtfully. "Go get one."

Sirius wiped the blood from Blanche's forearm with a long stroke of the reddened washcloth. He examined the split skin of her hand and shouted to Kreacher for bandages as well. He then scraped off what remained of her ruby necklace and threw it into the rubbish bin beside his desk.

"Never get splinched again," Blanche muttered beneath her breath, mustering a voice she didn't know she had anymore. "You're so hard to hold down."

She heard Sirius laugh as Kreacher returned, laying a thin white gown on the bed alongside bandages.

"Kreacher, get out," Sirius ordered.

"Young Master Black is so rude," Kreacher mumbled sourly as he closed the door behind him.

"Okay, Blanche. You have to stand up again," Sirius insisted, picking her up again and turning her in his arms so her feet were adjacent to the ground. When the pads of her feet landed on the wood, her knees gave in and Sirius had to drop the nightgown to keep her from falling. "Try and stand. I won't take long."

The zipper of the dress that ran along her spine came undone as Sirius tried removing the garment. She pushed away her exhaustion and managed to balance herself on the floor, reaching behind her to unzip herself. Sirius helped her remove her arms from the sleeves and tugged it over her slender hips. She kicked the dress away and reached to unclip her bra.

"Close your eyes," she spoke weakly and he obeyed to his own surprise. He assumed part of him wanted her to show all of herself to him when she was ready, and now was not the time. She had to give it herself, if she ever did. "Alright," she indicated it was okay to open. When he looked at her, she was already climbing back onto the bed in the nightgown. He reached for her hand and wrapped it with the thick gauze Kreacher had brought. When he finished, her unwounded hand fumbled with the ornate braid her hair was in; she pulled at the ribbon that kept it together.

"Here," Sirius walked to her and brushed his fingers through the braided hair. Before long it was flowing like a jet of ink down her back and Sirius was running his fingers through it only for the sensation. It put her to sleep in a heartbeat, and soon his eyes were slipping shut. Darkness stretched around him as he kicked his shoes to the ground, enfolding Blanche's body with his so their bodies were not alone in the night.

* * *

 _Blanche walked into the drawing room where her father sat with the Daily Prophet between his hands. Always reading the Daily Prophet. His narrow torso and head were masked by the paper so Blanche could only see his crossed legs. She stood before him politely—with a straight back and long neck as her mother had always instructed. Rabastan had surely heard the click of her Mary Janes on the wood as she entered the dark chamber, but he had not acknowledged her yet. He was so silent and unmoving, he may as well have been sleeping behind the unfolded paper._

 _"_ _You asked for me, father?" Blanche asked. His pale fingers thrummed against the page, indicating his awareness of her. He reached for the short glass of Dragon Barrel Brandy and brought it to his thin lips before putting down the paper._

 _"_ _Fool of a man—Idlewind. Thinks he can ban wands," Rabastan muttered. "Even us, the True wizards and witches of the wizarding world. Take it from the filthy Mudbloods, but not us. No—not us. What do you think of it, Blanche?"_

 _"_ _I think the Mudbloods should have their wands snapped. They don't deserve magic, and they soil it for us all," she rehearsed. Her father studied her with a raised brow. Blanche hadn't really related her answer to his topic of discussion, but she figured smearing Mudbloods would result in a sufficient answer._

 _"_ _You believe Mudbloods don't deserve magic?" Rabastan repeated his words. She felt her brow lower into a furrow. Isn't that what he wanted to hear?_

 _"_ _Yes, father."_

 _"_ _Then what about Talbot Tully?" He inquired, and Blanche's eyes widened to saucers. "The boy with whom you spend all of your time at Hogwarts. A Muggleborn who lives in—if I'm correct—Ilkley? Only a two hour train ride from here. Is that where you went last Thursday afternoon? For tea with a dirty Muggle?"_

 _"_ _Father, I—" She began, tears welling in her eyes. Rabastan looked at his eleven year-old daughter, with her bruised knees and pale frock. She clasped her hands together and sunk her nails into her palm, pleading for his mercy. Some ghost of a clever thought washed over him, and he nodded to himself._

 _"_ _It's alright, Blanche. Don't cry now. Loyalty is one of the greatest virtues, and I can see to whom you are loyal," he said. "Why don't you go see Talbot next Thursday? Tell your mother it is alright with me, and she can drive you to the train station this time. You won't have to walk."_

 _A smile broke across Blanche's face and she clicked her shoes excitedly against the floor. "Thank you, father! That is so generous of you!"_

 _"_ _Now Blanche stop causing a racket. You may go," he ordered. Blanche nodded her head and walked out of the drawing room as quietly as she could._

 _She turned the handle to the door before she opened and closed it, making sure the click of the lock didn't make a sound. Her father was easily disturbed by noises, and most of what the family did was done in silence. Supper was hushed, breakfast was noiseless, and Blanche tiptoed around the house at all times. It was a precarious household, to say the least. Loud noises caused uproars on her father's part, and those usually resulted in bruises._

 _"_ _Mother," Blanche called in a soft voice once she entered the lady's study. She turned a corner to see Lavinia writing a letter at her desk. It was most likely addressed to her sister, with whom she kept in constant contact. Lavinia's sister, Victoire, was just as chilly and distant as her. Blanche never understood from where their warmth for one another came, as neither seemed to be capable of genuine human compassion at all. However, she was ever confused by Victoire, who lived not far from Upper Flagley but had been unavailable for visit since Blanche was four years old._

 _"_ _What is it?" She asked, repositioning her gold-rimmed spectacles on the slender bridge of her nose._

 _"_ _Father said I could go visit Talbot this coming Thursday. He says he will permit our friendship!" She grinned widely. Although her mother was a withdrawn woman, she was never—at heart—tied to the Pureblood agenda. She was only a parrot to Rabastan; her words of hatred were echoes and nothing more._

 _No joy for Blanche reflected on Lavinia's face, only an unreadable expression Blanche had seen before but could not identify. She felt her lips knit into a confused purse. "I see," she said softly to herself, looking back to her letter. She picked up her pen and dipped it again in ink._

 _"_ _Will you drive me to the train station?" Blanche inquired, forgetting the look on her face._

 _"_ _You can walk. It isn't far," she responded, resuming her script._

 _"_ _Father said you would—" Blanche began, but never finished. Her mother was writing again by now—she blocked out her daughter's words. She supposed she would walk. Blanche left the lady's study and went outside. She ran to the grove of willows and lay down on the grass there, hoping one day she'd work up the nerve to ask her mother for seeds to plant there._

* * *

Blanche woke up from her dream to an unfamiliar sensation. A large hand was smoothed across her belly and planted itself on her waist in slumber. She turned around and saw Sirius' sleeping face, his eyelids flickering in a dream. She thought of her own dream, and the end to that story. Paired alongside the memory of Talbot, she instantly recognised Sirius was too close. She pushed his hand off of him angrily and slid across the edge of the bed. Strands of dawn streamed through the small openings between the heavy drapes in Sirius' bedroom and cast figures of light across the walls. She hadn't been in his room ever before, and she was not all too surprised by what she saw. It was as much a disaster as it was a statement. Posters covered the walls from the Muggle world—women in flimsy outfits, bands touring the world, political activists with liberal views. Blanche didn't know how much Sirius cared about these things—though she recognised some bands he'd mentioned before. She knew he greatly appreciated the women. However—for the most part—she knew that these were all put up in an effort to annoy Walburga and Orion Black. Even the clothes strewn across the room and the empty bottles of beer covering every surface—it was all intentional. Sirius loved irritating his parents more than anything else.

Blanche heard some useless and quiet babble coming from Sirius' mouth, and she turned around to see him clutching the covers where she'd slept in a firm grip. His eyes were still closed, however. She stood and examined him pensively, looking at the scar across his—not buff but pronounced, she observed—pectoral muscle. The scar meshed with ink on his chest she'd never seen before; he must have added a few tattoos recently. She stepped forward and studied the designs carefully. There were two she could see: one on the end of his right collarbone a vertical line with two traversing shorter lines cutting through it—a shoddy doodle of a rune, perhaps; the second moved in scribbled text toward his sternum just before the slope into his abdomen, and she had no idea what it was. She didn't know when he got them, how he got them, or why he got them, but she didn't want to ask and let him know she'd been studying his bare chest. Before turning, she noted to herself the one on his collarbone looked quite like the Cross of Lorraine; however, Blanche had no idea what significance the Cross of Lorraine was to Sirius.

"Sirius Black, you come out of that little hole of yours RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" Blanche heard the familiar screech of Walburga Black as she was snapped out of her analytical trance.

Blanche leapt for the bed and shook Sirius awake. He was a deep sleeper, but eventually he woke when Blanche pinched his nose and cut off his air.

"Merlin's shite!" He exclaimed, pushing Blanche's hand away.

"Your mother!" She responded urgently, pointing to the door with a bandaged finger.

"I hear you in there!" Walburga warned. "I'll have your father kick down this door if need be! Right this MOMENT, Sirius!"

"Shut up!" Sirius yelled, closing his eyes and bringing his fingers to his temples in annoyance.

"What are we going to do?" Blanche begged, looking to the window for opportunity.

"Didn't you hear Kreacher? It's hexed. No one can come in," he sighed, sitting up. He looked down at the quarter of his chest exposed by his shirt and brushed his hand across the scarred skin. "Happens to the best of us, I suppose," he frowned.

"Kreacher saved your life," she remembered, thinking of the house-elf who'd delivered the Essence of Dittany.

"Kreacher is a foul little git who thinks my mother is the Virgin Mary and my father Merlin himself," Sirius muttered. "He's only nice to you because you're a Lestrange debutante and he doesn't know where your true loyalty lies. If he knew what you really thought, you'd share his affectionate nickname for me—'wicked and mischievous Young Master Black the blood traitor'," Sirius imitated Kreacher's shaky, high voice.

"Doesn't he have to be nice to you? You're master of the house."

"No, my father is and my mother the mistress. He can't disobey me, but until my father and mother die he can be as rotten as he wishes to me. My mother doesn't mind it. She applauds it, in fact," he sighed. "Didn't you have one at Lestrange Grange?" He inquired.

"Jester," she remembered. "My father starved him to death."

"Oh," Sirius commented. "Charming."

"Charming," she repeated. "We never got another after him. Father thought he was too noisy and bothersome. I liked Jester quite a lot, I remember. He called me 'Blanchette'."

"I quite like that. _Blanchette_ ," he repeated.

"Sirius Orion Black, you open this door right this moment!" Walburga screeched. Sirius jumped off his bed and walked to the door, opening it unexpectedly. Walburga's eyes bulged out of their sockets at the sight of Sirius' chest.

"What is—" She tried taking a step into the room, but couldn't.

"Still hexed," Sirius reminded.

"You—What is… What happened?! Did that strumpet's father give that to you? Is that a _tattoo?!_ Sirius, WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON—" she stuttered and grasped sloppily for her first line of assault. "Is that _my_ nightgown?!" She looked at Blanche.

"I'm sorry, Miss Black. My dress was a ruin," Blanche apologised dutifully. Walburga's face softened at her regrets. She had always had a heart for the girl; she'd hoped Sirius might end up marrying her into the family—Lestrange was a noble enough house for the wife of a Black, and this one was particularly pretty. She also had a slice of control over Sirius, which she'd always admired as she had not a bite of it. But her face contorted stonily again at the sight of Sirius' room, which she clearly hadn't seen in quite some time. "Filthy Mudblood-loving boy!" She reached to hit him, but her hand only stopped involuntarily at the doorframe. "You BASTARD!" She gasped.

"Wonderful to see you too, you mad, old hag," Sirius spoke sarcastically. He slammed the door in his mother's face then turned around, beginning to remove his shirt. Blanche focused on pummelling him.

"Why on earth—" she launched a slap at his hard shoulder. "Would you bring us _here?!"_ She shouted.

"Merlin, you and my mother are one in the same sometimes," he fought her back with an extended foot and pushed her away. He reached for a white long-sleeved shirt and pulled it over his head. "Close your eyes. I must protect my modesty," Sirius played as he tugged his pants down from his narrow hips. She did so, putting a mangled hand over her eyes. When she opened, he wore dark green trousers. Once dressed, he stood back and looked at her.

"What is it?" She asked exhaustively.

"Perchance I should fetch you something to wear aside from my mother's oversized nightgown. I can't get you something that fits, but I can get you something you won't freeze to death in."

When Sirius was finished with his dressing, Blanche was dressed in a pair of jeans too baggy for her that a midnight friend had left in Sirius' room a few summers back, as well as a flannel button-up shirt of his that dropped three-quarters way down her thighs. He put on the finishing touches with his younger brother's—and also his shorter brother's—parka and a knit scarf he'd found at the bottom of the biggest pile of clothes in his room. Blanche looked into the full-length mirror, scowling at her reflection.

"I might as well be homeless," she scoffed.

"Aren't you?" He asked her, reflecting upon her disappearance from Lestrange Grange. "Unless, you plan on going back?"

Sirius and Blanche's laughter formed a familiar chorus, but behind the giggles were a painful truth: Rabastan had used all three unforgivable on his own daughter and her best friend within a span of five minutes—two of which were used to fatally harm them. She couldn't go back to that; she couldn't speak to or look at him ever again. She was homeless.

* * *

Not much later Sirius decided to Apparate them both to his newly-purchased flat in the London Borough of Camden, quite near Primrose Hill. It was a surprise Apparition, and Blanche was not at all happy about this, even though the two made it to the flat without being splinched. The nausea Blanche experienced from their first Apparition was hardly present during the second, but Blanche imagined that sickness was owed to her state at the time during the former.

In spite of being right beside Primrose Hill, Blanche was glad to see Sirius had not spent away all of his recent inheritance on a massive flat. She did have a taste for the finer things—a preference she developed through a childhood of decadence and wealth—but she knew Sirius was careless with money typically. It was nice to see he was finally moving away from that.

It wasn't spacious, but Blanche found she rather liked that. Colossal, neat rooms with Gothic ceilings and lengthy windows reminded her too much of Lestrange Grange. This flat was cozy in its colouring and design; its walls were painted a heavy green and an ornate rug covered unfinished floors. In the living room was a fireplace mounted in antiques Sirius had clearly stolen from Grimmauld Place, and thick rows of books framed the walls beside the fireplace. There were two bedrooms—one for Sirius and one for a guest, each with dark, pillowy bedding of maroon, a very small bathroom, and a kitchenette—which looked quite empty—attached to the living room. In the corridor outside the flat's entrance there was no door to Muggle eyes, but a simple charm revealed the portal with a great, thick mahogany door. When charmed, a plaque of brass read: 'Floor Three, Flat 0.'

Most shockingly of all, it was quite a tidy abode. It turned out Blanche was correct in her suspicions that Sirius was only a mess in his parent's house to anger them.

"We could have taken a taxi," Blanche glared at Sirius as he closed the door behind them, charming it again so the door disappeared to passing Muggles.

"That's true, but it's more thrilling this way—wouldn't you say?" He responded casually as he kicked off his shoes.

"It's quite peculiar you're so willing to Apparate, seeing you were the one who was splinched."

"I can't mourn over it forever," he shrugged. Blanche quieted herself; she had always admired Sirius' ability to work past problems and try again.

"Do you have parchment?" Blanche asked, walking through the kitchenette and into the living room. "And Lochlainn?"

Sirius pulled out his wand from his pocket and Blanche watched as a sheet of hanging navy silk flew through the air with a swish of his wand. An antique, painted birdcage appeared in the air and Sirius' barred owl, Lochlainn, greeted her with a hoot. "Parchment is in the desk across the lefthand bookshelves."

Blanche crossed the living room and saw a small wooden desk that had been hidden behind one of the great armchairs that sat across from the fire. The room was rather narrow, and in order to get to the desk she had to walk between the firewood bin and the edge of the armchair. Her heel knocked against the bin and it rattled with a clang, and she angrily leant to pick it up and move it to the other corner of the fire.

"Basic, Sirius," she sighed.

"It messes up the decor!"

She sat at the desk and pulled out several drawers before finding a fountain pen, a well of ink, and some parchment. Dipping her pen into the well, she began:

 _Dearest Lily,_

 _I am writing from Sirius' flat in London now, which is why Lochlainn is now delivering this message. No longer am I welcome at Lestrange Grange; my mother's funeral was a harsh event I will inform you of it when I next see you, which I unfortunately believe will be when we return from break. To say the least—Sirius and I got ourselves involved in quite a hostile and dangerous conflict with my father. Sirius was badly splinched in our Apparition from Upper Flagley to London; however, he is better now and has only been left with a scar. I sincerely hope your holidays are going better than mine (even though this is not a difficult accomplishment by any means). I would love for you to visit us or simply to see you. Seeing neither of us have Pureblood balls and feasts to attend, our schedules are looking rather open. I miss you dearly._

 _Your sister,_

 _Blanche_

Blanche paused before her final endearment, but quickly decided upon it seeing she had no family left and Lily was the closest thing to family she had, aside from Sirius. However, she would try to think of Sirius as her brother but only become disgusted for an unidentifiable reason.

Blanche folded the letter and opened Lochlainn's cage, handing him the letter. He snatched it up in his orange beak and flew out of the cage, landing on Blanche's shoulder. She opened the window on the wall between the bookshelves and the desk, and Lochlainn took off with the letter in his beak.


	7. Finally-Found Families

_Late December 1977_

 _Flat 0, Camden, London_

Blanche had been living with Sirius for four days, and she did believe it was going quite swimmingly. In the mornings they'd woken up at noon and enjoyed a hybrid of morning coffee and lunch sandwiches, then usually strolled about town until the evening arrived. Blanche had adamantly refused going out to dinner with him at a pub or restaurant, and so they made supper in Sirius' petite kitchenette each night. Being raised in households with servants and house elves always at their beck and call, neither were very skilled with cooking—but they'd managed to work out sufficient meals. Before midnight they would both succumbed to a bottle of wine, all whilst reading and laughing in front of the crackling fireplace. In the early morning they giggled their ways to bed and slept soundly until the next noon.

On the fifth day and the eve of Christmas Eve, Lochlainn was sitting on the dead-flowered windowsill outside the living room window and Blanche permitted him entrance, taking the letter from his beak. She unfolded it and read as Sirius began the series of fires that lasted through the day.

 _My lovely Blanche,_

 _I am so horribly sorry to hear about your holiday thus far—what a pity! I hope Sirius is better and that you are unharmed as well. I was so thrilled to see you'd like me to visit, but I just so happen to have a better idea… Come join us for Christmas! I'm sure it will be a drab compared to the elegant feasts you and Sirius are used to, but if you're not doing anything special I implore you to come to our abode. James will be here for Christmas, and we'll have an extravagant time. And as much as I love James, I often do require your and Sirius' comedic relief. He's been here at my parents' house for three days, and yesterday we had the most dreadful time dining with my sister Petunia and her fiancé, an obese, moustachioed git named Vernon. James and Vernon got in a disastrous row, and Petunia and Vernon stormed out of the restaurant. James promises he'll apologise to Vernon, at least._

 _Please respond as soon as you can—my mom was so giddy when I suggested to her that you come! I'm a bit worried to how Sirius will act around her (you know him), but it will be worth it._

 _Your sister,_

 _Lily_

"Sirius!" Blanche exclaimed as she threw the letter at him. In a started manner, he clutched the letter in his hands as it flew through the air and looked at her in shock. "Lily's invited us to Christmas!"

"Thank Merlin. I was getting sick of you," he insulted with a knowing smile. _Please, you treasure this,_ a vain sector of Blanche's mind rung. In thrill, Blanche picked up a pillow and threw it at his head. He dodged it and she mentally cursed his reflexes—which were naturally quick, but had been refined by four years as a Beater.

"Pack your bags, you filthy troll! We're having an actual Christmas!" She cried ecstatically. Before they retreated to their rooms to pick up their belongings—Blanche's were quite sparse, whilst Sirius had all his things at his flat—they laughed in chorus at Lily's line: ' _I'm sure it will be a drab compared to the elegant feasts you and Sirius are used to…'_ in remembrance of their familial celebrations, which were unfailingly cold, dark, lonely, and miserable.

* * *

 _Late December 1977_

 _Cokeworth, Midlands of England_

Sirius and Blanche arrived at the grey town of Cokeworth by midday on Christmas Eve. The two had left London one day after reading the letter, deciding it was better to reply to Lily's letter and wait at least a day for her to receive it before they came bursting through the Evans' front door. In their day of formal waiting, Sirius and Blanche decided to clean themselves up for what they were sure was going to be the best Christmas celebration of their lives. Sirius spewed memories of his Christmas the year before with the Potters, and they surpassed Blanche's wildest expectations. These pleasant evenings were full of laughter, cheer, and drink; everyone smiled through the entire night.

Blanche had decided to spend whatever she had left following her detangling from her family. She bought a dress and shoes, as well as a few garments to wear aside from Sirius' oversized shirts, sweaters, and—unfortunately, of late—trousers. She went to the salon and had her hair cut to her shoulders and added a new fringy bang that met just below her brow. This was the new Blanche, she told herself—the homeless Blanche.

Sirius also had himself a cleanup. He had his hair trimmed to the top of his neck and a fresh shave, and Blanche had even convinced him to iron his nicest dress shirt and trousers.

When they arrived, their faces dropped at the sight of Cokeworth. They had not expected much, but what they received was a shock to the system. Cokeworth was completed with lines of matching houses, all in the same shade of grey with hints of brown. In the distance they caught sight of a bank, but it was soiled with rubbish and pollution. The tall-chimneyed mill at the highest point of the town seemed to mount the town in ash and dust. All along, Blanche had expected the town of Lily's inhabitance to be a colourful swirl of light and happiness, much like herself. But upon seeing it with her own eyes, this made even more sense. Lily made her own light in such a dark place, and she hated the grey from which she came.

"I'll knock. They know me better," Blanche shoved Sirius aside with her hip and brought her knuckles to the peeling front door. She heard Sirius' sigh of defeat as the door opened instantly with a wide swing.

"God's nails—it's Blanche Lestrange!" A woman of lovely fair hair exclaimed, quickly fastening Blanche in a bone-crushing hug before she could even be identified as Lily's mother. Blanche noted her hair smelled of peaches. "And the infamous Sirius Black!" The woman extended her already active arm to Sirius, and Sirius squeeze into the crowded hug.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Evans," Blanche greeted with an uncommonly toothy smile.

"And a Happy Christmas to you too, my darling!" Mrs. Evans, a petite woman named Rose, cried. "Now come in, loves. It's quite chilly out there," she insisted and tugged them inside. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting away all the bitter winds whistling by outside.

"Blanche!" A flash of red hair shouted and instantly enfolded Blanche in another almost painful hug.

"Padfoot," James Potter waltzed into the living room from the kitchen, extending a masculine greeting to Sirius.

"Prongs," Sirius laughed boyishly, submitting to the greeting.

"Happy Christmas, Lily!" Blanche shouted back, trying to squeeze her with an equal strength. Blanche then decided that her two best friends were the greatest huggers in the world.

"I'm so glad you came," Lily laughed, pulling back to look between Sirius and Blanche. "Even you Sirius. James has been so miserable without any of the Marauders to back him up."

"Of course," Sirius nodded his head. "Thank you for letting us share your Christmas, Mrs. Evans. I know I speak for Blanche when I say you don't know how much we appreciate it," he thanked her politely. Lily was a tad surprised at Sirius' manners, but Blanche knew that Sirius' etiquette had been tamed long ago. He knew how to behave when he wanted to.

"Rose is fine, my darling," she grinned back. "And that goes to you too, Blanche. You're not in fourth year anymore," she said. The last time they had seen one another was after fourth year before the subsequent summer; she'd met Mrs. Evans at the train station and had loved her ever since.

A lanky man of copper hair and a slender build walked into the room, holding a glass of brown liquor to his chest. "You must be Blanche," he smiled at her happily, then turned to Sirius. "And you—Sirius. Quite like that name. I remember I thought that same thing the first time Lily mentioned you."

"Brightest star in the earth's night sky," Sirius replied.

"Ah, yes," Mr. Evans recalled. "In university a close friend of mine studied to be an astronomer. I'd not be surprised if he's on the streets now—he was a bit of an offbeat boy. Still remember the constellations and stars he told me about, though. Arcturus, Canopus, Cygnus, Orion, Antares, Andromeda, Pollux, Regulus, Bellatrix…" he listed.

"Would you believe me if I said most of the names you just listed are names of my family members?" Sirius tested.

"You're kidding!"

"I'm Sirius. My father is Orion, my cousins Andromeda and Bellatrix, my brother Regulus, my paternal grandfather Arcturus, my maternal grandfather Pollux, and my uncle Cygnus."

"Would you look at that?" Mr. Evans looked to his wife, clearly impressed. "We're one and the same, in a way. We've Rose, Lily, and Petunia—who's somewhere out with her lovey. Rose's sisters are Iris and Violet, and her mother was Jasmine. I quite like this!" Mr. Evans exclaimed.

"I've had a bit of trouble with the name. But saying 'I'm Sirius' when people ask if I'm taking the mickey never really gets old," Sirius gushed, and Blanche knew that to be true. Mr. Evans gasped slightly at Sirius' most recent use of the joke with him.

"Splendid!" He cried, then stuck out his hand. "Thomas," he greeted. Sirius shook it firmly.

"Thank you for having Blanche and me."

The night of Christmas eve proceeded in absolute splendour. Rose would not put down her camera as she captured the four's every moment, and Thomas became untidy with drink but was consistently endearing and fatherly to everyone. Their glasses were refilled with fizzing champagne and blood red wine, and their plates restocked with chicken breast, mashed sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts, gravy, Yorkshire pudding, parsnips, and roast gammon. When their stomachs were stuffed with supper, desserts plates of trifle and minced pies topped with brandy butter were placed before their chairs as the four danced to the many Muggle albums Thomas was rightfully proud of. Lily and James danced closely, and Sirius and Blanche kept to a laughter-filled push and pull of limbs, crashing into one other every once in a while in drunkenness. He led them in circles with their hands closed into one, swinging and swirling and collapsing into laughter. Toward the end he kept her in a tight embrace, keeping his head sleepily upright by leaning his lips on her forehead.

"Boys and girls—apératifs!" Rose cried from the dinner table. Blanche watched Sirius land down on his chair with a thud. He clutched his stomach.

"I don't know if I could take in another thing, Rose," he sighed. "But I'm going to, because this smells so good I think it's worth exploding over."

"Oh, stop it!" Rose blushed and giggled. Yet another woman won over by Sirius' charm.

"Blanche, you never told me what happened with your father," Lily announced suddenly. The lines of laughter seemed to fade from Sirius' face, and Blanche instantly grew more sullen. The joy of liquor faded on her, and its shell of raw emotions remained. "The hostile and dangerous encounter with your father?" She remembered inquisitively.

"Yes," Blanche nodded, knowing she had to tell Lily sooner or later. "Well, as you know, Sirius came to Lestrange Grange and unfortunately Walburga—which is Sirius' mother," she notified Rose and Thomas, "was there as well. She told Orion, I assume, and he became quite furious. He was trying to get a hold of Sirius, but Sirius stunned him. Then my father got involved."

"What'd he do?"

"Well I'm not quite sure why he got involved… Perhaps he needed a reason to punish me. He saw the opportunity and took it."

"I understand you two are known to be rather… resistant toward your parents' beliefs?" Thomas clarified.

"Yes. I assume James told you, but I left home over a year ago," Sirius told her, and both adults nodded.

"Well, you're not still at Lestrange Grange… So what happened after your father got involved?" Lily asked.

"It was never a playful fight… Quite nasty really. But then again, playful isn't a word I'd use to describe my father," Blanche laughed at herself.

"What'd he do?" James followed.

Blanche didn't know whether or not to answer. She was used to keeping it inside and storing her sorrow for a lonely, rainy day. No one needed to carry the burden of her sorrow with her. But she was sitting beside Sirius, who knew this story well. And if she was going to try and hide the truth in the shadows, he would surely drag it into the sunlight. Sirius never evaded problems, he dealt with the head-on. So Blanche had no choice but to answer.

"He used the Imperius Curse on me," Blanche hesitantly revealed to the table, even with Rose and Thomas sitting there. She felt the large hand of Sirius curl around her elbow, and she reached up to fasten her hand in his. She was too sunken of mind to care if Lily and James saw. She didn't need a hug, or a cuddle, or a kiss, or an embrace, and she wouldn't ask for anything of him. However, if he offered just that palmful of warmth to her, she would take it. It was all quite cold for her in that moment.

Blanche heard a strangled gasp from across the table. She looked to Rose, whose hands were hovering over her mouth. Her face had paled considerably, and the end of her small nose was tinted with red. "That's not the Unforgivable one, is it?" Thomas asked his Muggle wife. But clearly, Rose was more informed than her husband. She nodded to him slowly.

"On his own daughter?" His voice cracked as he asked, but he was not as close to tears as his wife.

"That's just how he is," Blanche shrugged. There was no admiration for the self-pitying. "Retrospectively, I suppose I should have expected it. He's a hard man. He's behaved this way before."

"But he's your father!" She heard Lily cry. The feminine hurt was coming from both sides of the table—Rose was in maternal defence and Lily in sisterly offence. Blanche wanted to pinch herself. The last thing she needed was everyone trying to pull some of the weight from her shoulders. But Blanche was struck in memory of how Lily worked, and how it appeared her mother worked too: _'Nothing can conquer the sacredness of family.'_ Was this true? But what was family—the one you were born with?

"It's alright—both of you!" She forced a grin over her mouth. "I could handle it."

"No, you couldn't," Sirius suddenly sounded with a voice of stone beside her. Blanche looked to him and saw his grey eyes shining with a hard fervour. "He made her use the Cruciatus Curse on me."

"Absolutely not," James shook his head. "No father would do that to his daughter."

"He's not a father," Blanche solidified. "I don't have one anymore."

"What did your mother do?" Rose was now tearing up and falling apart at the seams. She brought a slender finger to the rims of her eyes, drying the tears that slipped.

A silence melted in the air as James, Lily, and Sirius all knew the answer to that, but Blanche remained hard as rock. "Nothing. She never does anything."

"Sirius was at Lestrange Grange for her mother's funeral!" Lily burst out crying. James wrapped two gangly arms around her and soaked her tears on his shirt. On the opposite side of the table a mirror image appeared—Thomas took his weeping wife into his arms. Blanche sat awkwardly beside Sirius, unsure with the emotion flowing from both ends. Was it _that_ unthinkable to them? How could this harshness be so familiar to one person and foreign to another—both of them sitting at the same table.

"What _barbarian_ does that?" Thomas asked in a harsh voice. Rose looked up from his embrace and reached out a hand on the table. Tentatively, Blanche took it in confusion.

"You may not have the family you were born with anymore," she paused, her eyes glassy with tears. "But you have one here."

Blanche looked at her for a while, trying to put the pieces together in her mind: _What is family—the one you're born into?_ No, she knew. Finally she grasped at this truth: Family is the one you make for yourself.

"Thank you," Blanche tightened her grip and a sad but true smile planted itself on her lips.

* * *

Petunia was a sour girl—jealous of her sister and angry with her parents. She was three years Lily's senior, but several years younger emotionally. She loved to stomp her foot and call Lily names. But Blanche managed to muster some of her rare sympathy—Lily was beautiful, whereas Petunia was too long-faced and dull-haired. Lily was a witch, whereas Petunia had not a drop of magic in her. It was seemingly natural for Petunia to hate the world, as it gave her so little and her sister so much.

Petunia had been spending Christmas Eve with her fiancé's family, and had come home sometime after midnight. Her presence was introduced with a slammed door.

"I'm home!" She called with a groan from the front door, and walked in to see Blanche, Sirius, James, Lily, and Rose playing cards before the fire, laughing like a long-parted family. Thomas had already disappeared to bed, as his mood was softened and broken after Blanche's story of a horrible father. Before ascending to his and Rose's bedroom, he'd taken Blanche to the side and gave her a long hug. Blanche responded hesitantly, but sunk into the embrace as she discovered him to be warm and strong, whereas her father had always been narrow, cold, and never fond of touching. He then took her face in his hands and gave her a small but full-hearted smile.

"You will always have a place here," he'd told her. He'd been more of a father in that moment than Rabastan ever had.

Petunia looked at the scene with a scowl. "What's this?" She asked.

"Sirius and Blanche, this is Petunia, my other daughter," Rose introduced with a smile.

"Her _normal_ daughter," Petunia corrected. She looked at Blanche and Sirius, with eyes floating over Sirius' handsome face for quite some time before returning to her bitterness.

"Is being a witch or wizard unnatural?" Blanche asked with true curiosity, interested in Petunia's resentful opinion. "We were born with it."

"And if you ask me, you shouldn't have been. Born at all—maybe," she spat, marching towards the stairs.

"Petunia Evans!" Rose stood, ready to drag her immature daughter back to the scene for an apology.

"It's alright, Rose," Blanche said. She heard Petunia's footsteps on the stairs, intentionally causing a racket. "I'm used to prejudice. It's about time I should be on the receiving end of it," she laughed, and she really meant it. Sirius let out a breathy laugh beside her and shared her amusement. It was a bit nice. All his life he'd been the top of the top—the best of the best: a wealthy, pureblood wizard by the name of Black. No one had ever dared step out of line with him or send a legitimate insult his way. It was… refreshing.

And that was not the only pleasure of that night. Since the gathering at the table for dessert, Blanche had been considerably kind. She'd leant into his touch and defended playfully when James made fun of him in soft, Marauder habit. She'd held back on her long, exasperated sighs and laughed more with a true mirth in her eyes.

"Still, it doesn't give her the right—" Lily begun, but Blanche interrupted her.

"It's alright," Blanche insisted, then looked at her jellybeans on the table. "And you owe me some beans, I believe."

Rose picked one up and ate it, her face instantly contorting at the taste. "Overcooked cabbage!" She swallowed it and began to laugh. "I cannot believe the world you wizards live in."

* * *

 _Blanche's feet were still hurting by the end of the train ride; on her walk to the station, she'd twisted an ankle on a fallen log and limped the rest of the way. She hoped the ever-generous Mrs. Tully would bandage it up for her upon her arrival._

 _The train slowed to a stop at the Ilkley station, and her heart dropped a few inches in her chest when she didn't see Mrs. Tully's sky blue Pontiac in the parking lot outside the station. It wasn't very odd, however—she was a nurse with a schedule as messy as her patients. Once before she had been unable to pick Blanche up, but the walk was less than half an hour and she knew her way._

 _The walk went too slowly for Blanche as she excitedly raced down the streets of Ilkley. She quite liked the town—it was much more populated than Upper Flagley, which was composed of major Trueblood estates along long and winding roads._

 _Blanche pushed open the iron gates outside the Tully's modest home, which was not large but not small. It had two floors and was designed in a fantastic Tudor style, with its steep gable roofs, squares of pale stucco, and exposed framework. After all, Mr. Tully was a historian who had great appreciation for sixteenth century decorative motifs._

 _Blanche noticed the off-putting colouring of the sky as she walked along the pathway that tore through the overgrown grass. It was not rainy, but neither was it sunny, and the humidity formed a sheen of moisture across Blanche's cheeks. She'd always hated the uncertainty and eeriness of this weather._

 _She brought her knuckles to the door and knocked it once, then felt it seep open further as if it had already been ajar. "Hello?" She called and there was no response. But as Blanche took a step into the foyer she saw the lights in the kitchen were on, and the wetness in the air hinted that a door someplace had been widely opened. Perhaps they were eating outside, or cooking up something over the fire pit between Mrs. Tully's gardens._

 _The old wooden planks of the house creaked beneath her steps as she walked toward the staircase that would bring her to Talbot's room. At the landing, she called Talbot's name and received no answer._

 _"_ _Mrs. Tully?" She yelled as she walked into Talbot's room. It was a navy room that was somehow smaller than the laundry room. As a Muggleborn wizard, Talbot's walls were covered in posters for his favourite movies from the Muggle world—some of which he'd forced Blanche to watch. Blanche didn't like movies much, as Talbot had been the first to expose her to them; she found them to be an unrealistic attempt at mimicking actual life. However, she appreciated whatever Talbot said about them, as he was a rather sharp-minded fellow, especially in regards to the Muggle arts. He tended to prefer movies with idiosyncratic cinematography and unexpected endings._

 _Pinned between posters of the movies Psycho and Spartacus, Blanche found her own and most recent letter taped against the wall. She grinned to herself at his thought of her. Blanche turned and descended back down the stairs, figuring they were outside. She sprinted through the tiled kitchen but slipped halfway through on a sliced tomato that had tumbled to the ground._

 _"_ _Merlin's beard," she muttered to herself, rubbing the tail of her spine as she stood. She bent to pick up the tomato and wondered why Mrs. Tully had not come back in to see her food had fallen off the cutting board. Blanche took a rag to the floor and swiped up the gooey, seed-studded sludge of the tomato. When the half of the tomato that was on the ground was secured upon the cutting board, Blanche finally made it outside._

 _There was a sparse but tall pine that stood to the left of the Tully's backyard. The tree cast spotty shade across the yard and Mrs. Tully always complained about it ruining her gardens that lined the fence, even though her bulbs were always looking spritely. It was a very old tree, whose first major branches sprouted at least three meters over the ground. Its thickest branch was nearest to the ground, and it was so long it cast shade over the entire yard and that belonging to the neighbours._

 _But there were three new shadows thrown across the yard—long, dangling, and stretching like ghosts against the side of the house as the sun set. Three shadows tied with rope that was bound from neck to bough, and carrying narrow fruits._

 _Blanche entered the backyard to see three bodies hanging from three nooses tied to the branch. Their mouths were dead upon their faces, and their eyes open—all aside from Mr. Tully's. His were closed in some sort of accepting death—like he didn't bulge his eyes in fear before he dropped. He was not afraid._

 _She was right when she returned home, as dead in the face and heart as her best friend who had dropped into death off of the tree and into the rope. Her father acknowledged her entrance and said with some sort of grin: "The father went by himself, you know. He didn't need the curse. He wanted to... after his wife and son."_

* * *

Blanche's muscles felt hard along her bones when she woke—like they had only been cement poured between curbs. The only sign of reaction was the tear that dripped down her temple and into her hair, wetting a tuft and the pillow when she turned on her side. _It will never leave me,_ she thought to herself. The black shadows swaying steadily against the stucco walls with the wind. Mr. Tully had gone on his own.

To her left—in his own sleeping bag—Sirius made sounds in his sleep as he always did. His hand fidgeted in partial wakefulness out of his unzipped bag, and lightly clawed at the flannel lining of her bag. Blanche sniffed up any nearing tears harshly, and reached to wipe away her eyes with one palm. She felt her unused hand to Sirius' side meet a warm palm, and she looked up to see Sirius' eyes droopily open and a very small but well-meaning smile on his pink lips. In some infrequent moments of quietness, Sirius reminded her of Talbot. Both were equally happy-go-lucky; they were always ready to take a risk for simply living a more exciting life, and to lighten Blanche's mood with a playful jest. Blanche's hand tightened around Sirius', and she couldn't do anything about the next tear that left her eye.

She watched as Sirius' smile faded into something of shared sorrow. He didn't ask her what was wrong, but only lifted himself from his sleeping bag to stretch it further across the ground. Blanche's fingers fumbled with the zipper of her bag and undid it, rolling away from her cocoon and onto Sirius' outstretched bag that now extended as a blanket. He pulled her sleeping bag on top of them and made something of a bed, then took her into his bare arms. She accepted his embrace and trapped herself within the cage of his hard limbs, knocking her forehead into his flat sternum and curling up there. She felt his cheek rest on the crown of her head and stay there, feeling him breathe as he drifted away. She laughed quietly against him as he started speaking softly and incoherently in his sleep.

In that dark room, with Lily and James sleeping soundly to Blanche's right, she felt okay to relieve some pressure against him. To forgive herself—if only for a moment—of Talbot's sorrow, and Mrs. Tully's sorrow, and Mr. Tully's sorrow, and Miss Tully's sorrow, and her mother's sorrow, and her own sorrow. It was alright in that short fly away to sleep to be warmed by someone else, and to feel his heart beat against her ear.


	8. Lightly-Lit London

_Late December 1977_

 _Flat 0, Camden, London_

"Are you sure you're not together?" Lily asked Blanche in a genuinely surprised voice. Her eyebrow quirked as Blanche gave a long sigh of exasperation.

"I think I'd know!" She exclaimed, but then quieted herself as she heard Sirius and Remus rumble around in his bedroom.

"I don't know if you would," Lily doubted. "I don't know if you could even tell."

"Well, excuse me, Mrs. Experience. Why don't you tell me?" Blanche snarked.

"I'll tell you what I saw. I saw hand-holding, cuddling, and intimacy. Maybe it isn't a relationship, but it's something!" Lily grinned widely before Blanche kicked her in the foot.

"Peter should be here any moment," Sirius said as he and Remus emptied into the living room. They collapsed into the two armchairs with a thud.

"Excellent," Blanche rolled her eyes. "I hate that toad."

"It's a rat," Sirius corrected, keeping his eyes on the fire.

"What?"

"A rat. That's his Animagus. Makes more sense than toad," he said, looking to her. He shrugged at her irritated look. "Just saying…"

"You boys and your bloody Animagus shit," she stomped her foot. She was particularly peevish today.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" James asked as he entered from the kitchenette, putting new bottles of wine in the fridge.

"Nothing has my wand in a knot. This flat is just too damn—" she kicked Sirius' armchair "—small for six people. Especially with _that_ lard."

"She slept on the floor last night. That's what," Sirius explained in a background voice.

"That's right," she grinned sardonically. "If only you had a dog bed lying around for me to curl up in. Because _James_ and _Lily_ needed my bed."

"Hey! Don't go attacking Padfoot! Padfoot is a sweet dog!" Sirius exclaimed.

" _Padfoot_ has fleas."

"Come on now, Blanche," Remus looked up to her smiling. The warmth of the fire seemed to have imprinted upon the expression on his face. "It's New Year's Eve. Have a glass of wine!"

"James has a horrid back, Blanche," Lily fought back. "And it made sense for us to double up, so I took it. Sirius offered half of his bed to you, and you declined. That, then, is your fault, I reckon."

"Only because I didn't want to be assaulted in the night!"

"Like you wouldn't enjoy that," Sirius snorted. Blanche slapped the top of his loosely-ringleted head.

"You didn't seem to mind at my house," Lily reminded in a sing-song voice.

"Sirius is abnormally hot—"

"You can say that again," Sirius interrupted. That earned another slap.

"He runs warm, _I meant._ And I was cold."

"Blanche, you'd rather have built a fire in the middle of the Evans' guest bedroom than rely on someone for something else," Remus laughed. Its truthfulness stung, and the insult would have been a surprise if Remus had not already been on his fourth glass of wine. He was a bit of a heavy drinker, but no one brought it up because they were all sympathetic toward his lycanthropy. There were few things to mend over that wound, and alcohol was one of them. That being said, he rarely indulged; he disliked the truthfulness it lent his voice.

There was some irony to his comment, however. Blanche _had_ relied on Sirius that night, and it wasn't for his warmth. It was for the comfort he offered—the last thing Blanche would ever go to anyone for. As much as this rang true, she would never let her mind see the truth in it, even though everyone else already saw.

James walked in with a heavy glass of white wine for Blanche, and she bitterly accepted it. She did need it.

Lily enlarged the clock hanging above the mantle with a flick of her wand so everyone could watch each tick of the second hand closely come midnight. As she cast the spell, a knock sounded at the door. Sirius stood and walked to it, allowing Blanche to steal his seat.

They all heard Peter cast an unlocking charm and enter it before Sirius could reach the door. "Padfoot!" He exclaimed.

"Wormtail—glad you could join us on this fine evening," he welcomed Peter in.

* * *

Blanche walked unsteadily to the window against which a barn owl tapped. A drinking game that was some hybrid of Exploding Snap and Wizard's Chess had soaked her brain in liquor, but the fresh night air of winter streaming in knocked her to her senses. She failed to recognise it at first, but then realised it was Orpheus, the cold-faced barn owl belonging to Rabastan Lestrange. She scowled and took the letter, leaving the living room and walking to Sirius' room, which she had been sleeping in on the floor since the arrival of the guests. She surely would force Sirius to the ground for the next night.

"Colloportus," she wandlessly locked the door, which had no lock and could only be secured with the charm. She held the letter under the tall candle that still burned beside Sirius' bed, dripping soft wax onto the oak bedside table. Rabastan's black wax seal held together the folded corners and Blanched peeled it off, holding it over the flame so it dripped down the chartreuse wax of the candle. There was no introduction nor acknowledgement of the recipient; no 'dear' nor 'greetings,' not even a stiff 'to whom it may concern.'

 _I've taken your Disapparition and failure to return to Lestrange Grange as an indication that you no longer wish to be a part of the Lestrange House. I've written to you so you know your ties to the family have thus been relinquished, and to inform you that the Lestrange vault of Gringotts will no longer allow you to withdraw from the account. If you hope to reverse your actions, please abandon these ambitions as you are no longer welcome here. Your possessions have been removed and destroyed. Your tuition has also been halted. I ask that you only use your mother's maiden name or the blood traitor Black's name, as association with you is unattractive in the eyes of the Dark Lord._

 _Rabastan Radulf Lestrange_

Blanche kicked the table, sending Sirius' brass alarm clock off the edge and springs flying about. "Reparo," she said after a halt of silence and looking at the clock. Was she happy to be free? Yes. But the changes that were to be made… No more Hogwarts or home or last name or endless bank to dig handfuls into.

"Am I superficial?" She asked herself aloud suddenly, bringing her hands to her face and feeling the skin and forms beneath it, as though to examine the similarities between physical and mental superficiality. She felt the straight nose, high cheekbones, long lashes. She was accustomed to luxury; weaned on oysters and champagne, getting everything she ever wished for. Her Christmases were colder than those experienced three-hundred kilometres north, but at least a frothing hill of silver presents always awaited her beneath an ever-towering pine tree on Christmas morn.

"Blanche? What are you doing in there?" She heard Remus Lupin on the opposite side of the door, rattling the doorknob.

"Nothing," she answered. She prepared to rip the parchment in two, then in four, then in eight, and so on, but she couldn't tear it. Her hands didn't let her. Her body wanted her to keep this—she knew. The object of disentanglement. The emblem of her orphanhood.

"If you don't unlock it, I will," Remus threatened. She stood up from her crouching position and unlocked the door with a flick of her wrist. She watched as Remus nearly scraped his head entering the room—too tall for the vertically-outdated flat. "What are you doing over there?" He peered over the bed, watching as Blanche vacillated between attempting to rip the paper and putting it down before her in security. His drunkenness had worn away somewhat as the night had progressed. He now only spoke with mellow joy, sinking slowly into perpetual darkness as would a capsized ship.

"I just got a letter from my father," she told him.

"Your father, huh?" He sighed, sitting on the bed. "Sirius told me a bit of what happened. I'm sorry that happened to you, Blanche. I really am."

Blanche smiled at him sadly from the ground. "It's okay. It's not what he did that bothers me the most," she exposed in a rare moment of sentimentality. Remus had a way of making her comfortable enough to dribble some of her problems on the table—but never spill.

"What does?"

"The fact that _that_ man is my father, and there's nothing I can do about it," she mumbled. "I've essentially been unyoked from the family, for which I'm glad—truly. But the fact that he's in my blood. You know? No—you _do_ know, don't you?"

Remus nodded. She watched his eyes cast out the window at the moonlight that sunk from the sky and into the streets of London. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable, and Blanche similarly feared these bits and pieces of her life... but it suddenly slapped her in the face what that must be like—fearing something he sleeps under every night, and it devouring the evening sky. Every time the sun set he was lost to the fear; at least Blanche didn't have to see her monsters anymore.

"New Year's Eve is overrated," Remus sighed again, standing. "Take your time in here. Do you want me to send Sirius in?" He asked, barely able to see the top of her head over the bed-frame.

"Why do you assume—" she began, but stopped herself. "Yes, please."

It was only seconds before Sirius came racing in, slamming the door behind him. "Hi," he greeted, collapsing on his stomach on his bed.

"Spend the last minute of 1977 with me?" She asked, crumpling and flattening the letter repeatedly in her hand. "Then spend 1978 out with them?"

"I'll just stay here. I'm tired anyway," he yawned. He was so strange, she thought. Most nights he was a party animal, but lately he was merely a sleepy homebody. "What are you doing down there?" He looked down at her, sneaking under the covers.

She made a ball of the letter and threw it at him—it hit him directly on the smooth plane between his eyebrows. He picked it up and unwrinkled it, stretching it before his eyes so he could see. She watched his eyes quickly pass each line. Then, shockingly enough, he saw a grin sneak onto his face as he finished.

"What is it that's so funny about the letter?" She inquired.

"Blanche Black," he envisioned dreamingly. She watched his eyes float up to the window as though looking into the future, as a little boy would look into the sky to see if it held what he wished. "You can't deny it has a ring to it," he looked back to her.

"Oh, stop. I don't know why he suggested that. Walburga would have an apoplectic fit if she heard about that. Anyway, it's not like a have a legal right to the name. I may just stick with Lestrange and hope my father hears about it."

"You should use Greengrass, not Lestrange," Sirius told her, his face falling straight. He looked like a man again, boyishness fading. When he wanted, he had a face that could command a hundred brigades, a thousand cavalries.

"Where's the fun in that?" She screwed her lips into a frown.

"The _fun_ is that you don't give your father another bloody reason to come after you."

Blanche shrugged, looking at the clock she'd kicked over. There were two minutes until the first of January. She saw he was going to fight her, but she stopped him. "I can't graduate from Hogwarts."

"How's that?"

"No tuition. Maybe I can talk to Dumbledore about a scholarship, but I don't know if I'd get it with my record," she sighed. In spite of Blanche being at the head of all her classes, she did have a knack for landing herself in detention.

"Oh. I'll just pay for your remaining months," Sirius said easily, as though it were obvious.

"Absolutely not."

"Why not? It can't be very much. A year is about ten thousand galleons, but you only need coverage for six months. Five thousand galleons," he said, seeing the reluctance upon her face. "My uncle left me quite a fair bit of gold, Blanche. Trust me when I say five thousand galleons will not make a dent in the inheritance."

"Sirius, you're not paying for it."

"I am. If you're so desperate for financial independence, you can pay me back some day."

Blanche looked at him with hesitance, pursing her lips. She would quite like to graduate. She was at the head of nearly every class she took. "Are you sure?"

"I honestly didn't even think we'd talk about it. I just thought I'd be paying without question."

"How's that?" She laughed.

"Well, you're my family. Why wouldn't I?"

A very serene look passed Blanche's face, fading all of her porcelain features into elegant delicacy. Her eyes were warm with trust and love, if only for a moment. Then the room beyond the bedroom's closed door screamed with laughter and exclamation coming from the living room. They both figured it was midnight, as even the Muggles living in neighbouring flats celebrated loudly. London erupted with congratulations; the streets suddenly fluttered with gilded celebrators. "Happy New Year," she said quietly.

"To you too," he responded in a matching voice. "Be my New Year's kiss?"

"That tradition is rubbish, Sirius. And no," she answered.

"It may be, but why not? Wouldn't be the first time," he grinned. She avoided his eyes as she thought of that night—the taste of liquor and honey on his mouth and the warmth to his lips. Rising waves bubbling like a potion in a cauldron, the colour of fresh spring carnations and the scent of charred logs and thyme. With these features the memory was dressed.

"Stop it."

"Please?" He asked dangling a hand over the side of the bed. Blanche figured he wouldn't leave her alone for the rest of the night if she didn't, and a small part of her knew she wanted to. In a quick movement, Blanche planted her elbows on the side of the bed and took his face in her hands. It was all much faster than the unhurried, experimental time they'd first kissed, and was much shorter. When she moved away she hadn't even tasted his last drink on his lips, but he ensnared her with his hands before she could return to the ground, as she expected and secretly hoped he would.

He pulled her again to him so their mouths met in a real kiss, and this time he held her face between his hands. It wasn't long, but there was certainly something to it. It was almost a kiss of domestic bliss—sweet, short, and warm, as those shared by a husband and wife. He let her go this time, but she didn't slip back to the floor. She rested her chin on his shoulder and fit his hand between her two palms. He just kept looking at her—studying her like an artist studied his muse. If there was one thing Sirius always knew about Blanche and a one thing that never changed, it was that she was the most beautiful girl—at first—and woman, these days, he had ever laid eyes on.

Eventually they fell asleep on Sirius' bed, not tangled in the limbs but in the hand as they slept. Remus walked in some few hours after midnight to make a bed for himself on the floor, but saw the peacefully sleeping pair in the bed and decided to spend the night in one of the armchairs.

* * *

In the resuming days of vacation, everyone left London aside from Blanche, Sirius, and James. They'd spent most of their days buying miscellaneous goodies and drinking in pubs along Diagon Alley. But the day before going to King's Cross for the train, James, Sirius, and Blanche had a more definitive task. James and Sirius needed dress robes for the Last Ball, the formal dance held for the Seventh Years during the rains of May.

When Blanche was in Madam Malkin's with the two, she seemed startled to notice how they looked more like men than she'd ever seen them. James' relationship with Lily had naturally robbed him of his virtues—those which Sirius had thrown flagrantly to the wind when he was a Third Year. James' loss of virtue had planted a surety in his voice and a spring in his step. He made more of an effort to tame his consistently untidy hair, and even seemed to be working on a slightly patchy but albeit present beard. Sirius was playing with a similar idea, but his was—in its own way—much worse. Sirius was whole-heartedly considering growing a moustache, and often would let the hair above his lip grow for a few days without shaving, 'giving it a whirl' as he put. Blanche had done her absolute hardest to part him from this dream. The closest she had gotten was a promise that there would be no 'gentlemanly moustache' until after the Last Ball, under the conditions that she went with him.

"Blanche—imagine this," Sirius paused, looking at himself vainly from head to toe in the mirror. "I'm in these right _proper_ dress gowns, looking clearly like a dashing cavalier. I have the chain of a golden pocket-watch visibly hanging from my vest pocket. My hair is combed back," he brought his hands to the side of his head and combed his fingers through the loosely-curled hair, giving himself a sleek look. "And then, every now and then, I'm twirling the ends of my elegant moustache."

"No," she said simply. Sirius looked at James as he parted the curtains and walked out. He stood next to Sirius in the mirror, looking at them together.

"Well, Padfoot—I must say you're looking extraordinarily handsome," he gushed.

"And Prongs! I could just eat you up," Sirius returned, then studied their reflections. "Scratch that—I'd eat myself up. I look incredible."

"Alright. I'll be wandering," Blanche sighed, having had enough of Sirius' narcissism. She left the robes shop and walked along the crowded streets of Diagon Alley by herself, reading the titles of the various shops until one piqued her interest: TerrorTours. Perhaps it could be something fun to do with Sirius, Lily, James, and Remus… And not Peter. She walked in and a fair-haired witch's attention was immediately ignited.

"Hello there! Are you interested in booking a trip with TerrorTours, the top wizarding traveling agency in the U.K.?" She asked.

"No, but I'm interested in knowing what you offer," Blanche said with a hint of irritation at her rehearsed promotion and sugary voice. "It would be a trip for five people—maybe six."

"Wonderful! Any particular continent or country you're interested in seeing?"

"No," she said blankly.

"That's alright! Would you like to hear about some of our most popular trips?" She asked.

"No," Blanche refused again. "I'd rather hear about your unpopular trips."

"Oh… Okay!" The woman hesitated at Blanche's odd combination of peculiarity and surety, but continued onward. "We have a group trip that provides a Muggle-protected shelter enclosed within the Giant's Causeway in Ireland. And another protected desert tenting trip that follows Badab-e-Surt in Iran. We have a mountaintop home on top of the cliffs in the Tianzi Mountains—but I'll be honest, those have been known to wobble and the Thestrals used for transportation are a bit frightening. We have places in the Chocolate Hills in the Philippines, Whale Bone Alley in Siberia, the Maunsell Sea Forts, Leap Castle, the Reed Flute Cave, the Rakotz Bridge…" She listed.

"Do you have a brochure?" Blanche asked. The woman nodded, handing a long piece of folded parchment over the counter. The pictures of each place were enchanted and provided moving arial views of each location. The brochure was quite thick, and Blanche took the front and back pieces apart and the brochure unfolded nearly a hundred times, stretching out like an accordion. "Perfect," she grinned.

"Just send us an owl if you decide on anything," the woman said happily as Blanche left.


	9. Greatly-Conflicting Curses

**A/N: Hope you all enjoy... Sorry this took me a bit of time! I try to update every 2 weeks now but the holidays have tossed me up a bit. Otherwise, I urge anyone who likes this to COMMENT more than anything else. Nothing makes me update faster. ENJOY PLEASE and I hope you are as desperate to read the next chapter (after the ending of this one, as you shall see...) as I was to write it!**

 **Yours,** **Alisson**

* * *

Mid _March, 1978_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"Aaaand Evan Rosier awards Gryffindor a penalty on grounds of cobbing Beater Black—and nice take by MacDonald—MacDonald passes to Cresswell—SCORE! Cresswell dodges Avery and scores Gryffindor ten points, making the score forty-ten, Gryffindor. Talkalot's heading for the Quaffle—NOPE! Gryffindor's Caius Killick's got it—Bludger heading for Killick but… SAVED! Black's sent it and confused Slytherin with a wise Bludger Backbeat—Talkalot's got it again—Talkalot, Rosier, and Abbott forming Hawkshead Attacking Formation—Score by Slytherin—but WAIT! Penalty awarded to Gryffindor on grounds of Haversacking… Dirty game, now—MacDonald's got it—Cresswell's got it—Killick's got it—SCORE! Fifty-ten, Gryffindor, thanks to Killick."

Blanche was rocking on her heels in nervousness and excitement beside Lily, who was chewing her fingernails down to scabby nubs. They were both dressed head-to-toe in scarlet and gold, and held up massive, hand-painted posters that read: 'Break the Snakes!'

"Abbott going in on Gryffindor Keeper William Rabnott—SCORE! Fifty-twenty, Gryffindor—but here comes Black, to knock Abbott off her course with that Bludger—and MacDonald's got it—SCORE! Sixty-twenty, Gryffindor—Black's hit heading toward Slytherin seeker, also a Black— _Regulus_ Black is hit by the Bludger—but Cresswell's got it again—Very nice! Cresswell makes the score seventy-twenty, Gryffindor—Talkalot has the Quaffle—What's this? Seems Regulus has recovered from his Bludger hit and it following something…the Snitch?—Rabnott blocks Abbott's attack but Rosier's right back on him—Regulus Black is following something—Potter takes a leap and follows Regulus—Potter right on his tail—Rosier loses the Quaffle and Killick's got it—Killick passes to MacDonald—other Gryffindor Beater Broadmoor's sent the Bludger Regulus' way—Regulus dodges but is lagging—Potter's nearly got the Snitch… it's right there!—MacDonald back to Killick—Killick makes the goal! Eighty-twenty, Gryffindor!—Potter seems to be on it—What's this? _James Potter_ nearly fallen from his broom…"

"What on Earth…?" Blanche heard Lily muttering beside her as they watched James hold onto his broom's shaft with one hand. They could nearly see James' mouth full of curses as he tried to loop his legs back around the broom.

"Would he lose his grip like that?" Blanche inquired curiously, looking at Lily.

"No. Never…" Lily shook her head. Just then she watched Sirius swoop in and extend a hand, allowing James to regain his position upon his broom. "Thank Merlin for Sirius," Lily muttered.

"James back on thanks to Black… That is _Sirius_ Black—but Regulus is on something—Talkalot has the Quaffle, heading in on Rabnott—Snitch spotted! Inches from Regulus' hand—Potter hot on Regulus' trail—Rabnott blocks Talkalot's goal—Potter _right_ on Regulus—again, Potter's lost his grip on his broom—Regulus Black has the Snitch!"

"Absolutely _not,"_ Blanche heard Lily argue to her side. "That wasn't him!"

"You're right," Blanche agreed, who had been looking through her omnioculars at the Slytherin spectators for the culprit. She'd found him just seconds before he finished the second Hurling Hex—Cyril Avery. "Someone hexed him."

"Slytherin wins one-seventy to eighty!"

"Who was it?" Lily asked as Blanche looked out at James and Sirius, who looked near lethal depression on the field.

"Cyril Avery just so happened to be muttering the Hurling Hex into his robe's collar," Blanche responded bitterly, looking at the chubby-cheeked criminal in the erupting Slytherin stands. "Thankfully, I've done enough concealed curses to know that _that's_ exactly what they look like."

"No! We have to tell Madam Hooch!"

Blanche shook her head, watching as James flew across the field in an attempt to attack Rosier, but Sirius held him back. "That won't work. This game is how it is—it can't be changed now. But if that's how they want to play the game, then so be it."

The Gryffindor spectators were close to tears surrounding Blanche and Lily. They had been highest in points thus far, but this game had pushed Slytherin to the top spot. Blanche looked at McGonagall, whose frown was incised in her face deeper than ever before.

"What are we going to do?" Lily cried, burying her face in her hands. "James is going to take his own life if he doesn't win the Cup in his last year. You know how he is."

"Don't worry," Blanche shook her head, glowering at the Slytherin stands. "We'll fix this."

* * *

That night in the Gryffindor common room, James was a wreck. Sirius tended to be more restrained in terms of Quidditch fanaticism, but he seemed to share James' insanity that night.

"Someone needs a good cursing—I believe! Thinking they can get away with that RUBBISH—I _don't_ think so. Absolutely not—over my dead Goddamned body!" Sirius cried.

"They're dirty cowards!" James kicked the air, scaring away a few Gryffindor Second Years. "I hate them all! They're all namby-pamby gits who can't win a Quidditch match the _real_ way!"

"Settle down, James. You've just got to cream Ravenclaw in May, and you should be set. They're certainly not as skilled as Gryffindor," Lily tried to calm him down.

"They've Carol Cooper!" James argued.

Sirius cleared his throat, calmer than he was seconds before. "I might be able to do something about that…" He hinted sinisterly.

"How's that?" Lily asked.

"Let's just say… She's always wanted a bit of Sirius in her life," he grinned and Lily rolled her eyes.

"I say we hex Slytherin at the Hufflepuff-Slytherin match in April," James said decisively as Blanche entered the room through the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"No we won't," she shook her head, holding a massive book of hexes, jinxes, and 'light-hearted' curses which Sirius admiringly named 'the Holy Grail.' Blanche was a notorious prankster, and all of her greatest tricks were inscribed in this massive book she kept hidden away in a place even Sirius was unsure of. It was as sacred to the band of friends as the Marauder's Map was. "James, you just complained about Slytherin not being able to win a Quidditch match the 'real' way. We're going to get them back, but we won't sink to their level. I have a better idea anyway."

"I can see you've got _something…"_ James looked longingly at the book. Blanche sat before the fire with her back to the flames and opened her book. Sirius tried to sit beside her and look at the pages, but she hit him every time he got close enough to see the words. "What is it you were planning on?"

"Just revealing their true nature," she grinned. "But I'll need access to the Slytherin common room. Can I have a password recruit?"

"Don't need one. I know it," Sirius smiled.

"How's that?" Blanche asked him.

"A magician never reveals his tricks."

"Fine then, you nitwit. As I'm the only one here who knows the curse, I'm going. Sirius knows the password, so he's coming, and I need back-up. James, you're not coming with because you'll be an obvious suspect. But we do need someone to distract Filch—Remus or Peter?" Blanche asked the other two boys who took over the entire couch—in spite of the fact that there were uncomfortable underclassmen who would have much appreciated a seat that wasn't on the floor.

"I'll do it," Lily announced. Blanche, Sirius, Peter, Remus, and James all looked at her with an odd eye.

"What? _You?"_ Peter piped up, even though he usually stayed quiet during their discussions—now too afraid to say anything in front of Blanche (he had been hexed far too many times).

"Yes, _me,"_ Lily pursed her lips. "I'd like to participate."

"Lily, we're probably going to get detentions for this. Are you sure? You _are_ Head Girl."

"James is Head Boy and he's participating."

"Yes, well," Sirius interjected. "No one really understands why that is. Seeing there's no reasoning behind his appointment, we assume he can get away with misbehaviour. You—on the other hand—actually _earned_ your position, and can also jeopardise it."

Lily still shook her head adamantly. "I don't care. I can't let them do that to James and get away with it."

Proudly, James slung a long arm around Lily and pulled her toward him with a face-splitting smile. He placed a long kiss on her lips and pressed more upon her cheek and ear; Lily blushed ferociously whilst he did and giggled in a lover's pitch.

"Um," Blanche cleared her throat. "Before I _vomit—"_

"Really, Prongs. Keep it in your pants. Some of us here are more virginal than you, _"_ Sirius mocked Blanche's chastity. An angry bubble grew in her heart at his words, but she pushed it away.

"Anyway… Lily you'll have the map with you because we've the cloak. When you see us leaving the Slytherin common room, I need you to walk towards us. If anyone comes, send out a light and hide, then Sirius and I will get rid of them. When we meet, we'll walk you back under the cloak. Then I'll take the map and head to the Great Hall. Sirius, I need you to take care of Peeves using the cloak. Good?"

"No problem."

"In the Great Hall I'll finish the curse. I'll wait for you to come down, Sirius. Then we'll make it back up to the common room. Filch needs to be completed gone for this to work though—Lily, if you're going to need to slip him a Sleeping Draught."

"How on earth do I get a Sleeping Draught to Filch?" Lily laughed doubtfully.

"I've done it loads of times—it's nothing compared to what getting past Pringle was like. I've got taw scars on my palms from that git," she exposed her right palm and the firelight exposed faint stripes of scarring on both of her hands.

"Lucky you. I've got them on my arse," Sirius laughed.

"Really? I don't remember that particular form of punishment," she answered. "Reckon they're not allowed to do that to the girls."

"I'll show you some time," he grinned with a wink. James rolled his eyes at the unrelated tangent that Blanche and Sirius often fell into; he was too hungry with revenge to wait. Then again—he had just spent several minutes lathering Lily in kisses, but that was worth it.

" _Anyway,"_ Blanche said, noticing James' impatience. "I recommend offering it in a tray of milk for that wretched cat, Mrs. Butternicke. He tastes it before giving it to her."

" _Really?"_ Lily gasped.

"Yes. One time Blanche and I gave her a bowl of kitty mix, and he tried it before giving it to her," Sirius laughed.

* * *

Sometimes Sirius swore Blanche was a sorceress. In the Slytherin common room, she'd placed her curse and nothing had happened, but she went on as though everything was working perfectly well. She disappeared to the Great Hall and Sirius met her there after getting Peeves in a fight with Violet from the antechamber about the Fat Lady's weight. Sirius got inside the Great Hall in short time and transported Blanche upstairs beneath the cloak after she finished the curse—which also did nothing to the Great Hall. She didn't provide any explanation, but all he knew was that in three day's time on a pale Monday morning of March, when all the Slytherins sat down at their table in the Great Hall with an inexplicable hunger, each one of them had transformed into a squealing pig in a too-small uniform.

McGonagall instantly knew the only student who could have pulled off such massive mischief, as well as the one who surely served as her second-in-command.

"Blanche Greengrass and Sirius Black!" McGonagall shouted through the waves of seizing laughter rolling over the three student tables remaining. They naturally knew what was coming, but were both privately thankful for the quick-witted professor's memory of Blanche's requested surname change. "Detention Chamber with Filch! _Now."_

With a bow, Sirius and Blanche left arm-in-arm from the Great Hall and laughed their way in the direction of the Detention Chamber. In the Passage of Fouls, they'd passed one lone Slytherin who'd missed the curse in the Great Hall—Severus Snape, who often skipped meals. Sirius instantly scowled at his hunched-over walk at the opposite end of the hall; he'd been more angry at him of late, as Severus had most recently been on a theory regarding Remus Lupin. Severus had announced to his housemates that he believed Remus to be a werewolf—this conclusion coming after extensive research. Of course Severus was right, but no one would ever let him know that. In fact, Sirius had been recently drafting ideas to how to get him back and glue his mouth shut.

"Snivellus," Sirius acknowledged him with his nickname. "Oh, Severus. Sorry."

"What do you want, Black?" Severus answered harshly.

"I'd heard about what you'd come up with about Remus being a… you know… a werewolf," Sirius lowered his voice in rumour. "And right when I heard you say it so many old suspicions came to mind. The disappearances upon the full moon, the preference for raw meat, the strange potions he'd take each night before sleeping… It was all so curious, I was sure there was something wrong. I once followed him out of the school and to the Whomping Willow… Oddly enough, he knew how to get the tree's branches to stop flying around. Anyway, I couldn't get deep into the Willow—I was too scared…"

"You can get into the Willow?" Severus asked with a straight face; regardless of the stiffness he wore, there seemed to be some intrigue in it.

"Yes. There is a way…" Sirius whispered.

"Black and Lestrange, into my office now!" Filch stepped out of the Detention Chamber upon hearing their voices in the hallway. Not so shockingly, the squib caretaker used Blanche's old last name, which sent a bitter scowl to her lips. "No side-talk!"

"Wait, I need to—" Severus pled for the rest.

"Later. But I need someone to solve this…" Sirius spoke as he feigned an expression of worry.

"Now! My Office!" Filch shouted. Mrs. Butternicke came crawling out behind him.

"It's not your office, actually," Blanche said as she released Sirius' arm and walked toward the Detention Chamber.

"Would you like to be in more trouble than you already are?" Filch asked her with a yellow grin.

"Not particularly. I was just trying to clarify matters," she shrugged and entered the chamber.

"Black! Now!" Filch barked as Sirius parted from Severus, who watched him achingly as he entered the chamber.

* * *

That Tuesday night, Sirius and Blanche were reorganising Filch's files without the use of magic—even though neither could imagine how magic would benefit the task. He'd left Mrs. Butternicke in charge of them, but Sirius had long ago cast upon her a mild sleeping charm.

Blanche threw a scarlet folder into the 'Repetitively Rambunctious' stack of folders. She adamantly believed the task was useless—sorting archived detentions and misbehaviour forms by the severity of the culprit. Once in a while she ran into herself, which she affectionately put in the 'Out of Hand' pile.

"Some of these are left over from Pringle, you know," Sirius commented as he looked through a file. "November twentieth 1939, Fourth Year Marcus Hornby uses Stickfast Hex on Myrtle Warren. Punishment is… twenty cane-strokes to the bare bottom."

"Moaning Myrtle?" Blanche confirmed.

"I assume so," he shrugged. "She always whines about Olive Hornby making fun of her… Looks like Olive had a relative who was just as harsh."

Blanche shuffled through the folders, looking for one in particular she believed would be there. After several minute of searching, she found it. "May first 1971, Second Year Sirius Black sneaks around school after hours three night in a row. Punishment is twenty taw-strokes to the bare bottom."

"There she is," Sirius grinned widely.

"How many of me have you found?" She inquired, looking over to his piles.

"About seven—so far," he remembered the offences and listed them on his hands. "Two out after hours, three hexes on students, and two insolent behaviour to professors. How many of me?"

"Five, not including Pringle's. Two insolent behaviours, another sneaking after hours, and two hexing students."

"Right," he nodded to himself, throwing a few folders into a faraway pile. Just then both he and Blanche heard a feminine giggle echo through the hallway. Sirius caught Constantine Carrow standing in the Passage of Fouls with her skirt pulled _far_ above her knees. With the hand that wasn't gripping her skirt, she undid the buttons of her blouse slowly, revealing her mint green brassiere underneath.

"What was that?" Blanche asked, beginning to rise on her knees to look before Sirius pushed her down.

"Just someone. I told her I'd help her out with a curse on her ex-boyfriend. Can you cover me for… fifteen?" He asked, getting ready to leave and looking at his watch.

"Sure," she shrugged. Sirius pounced out into the hall and covered Constantine's mouth as he dragged her over to the nearest broom closet; he bent her over a few lean-to Nimbus 1000s and yanked down her undergarments for access. He didn't have much pride in shagging a Slytherin, but she _had_ provided the common room password and she _did_ beg for him.

Plus, she bore some resemblance to Blanche. Her hair was dark—not like the blue-black silk that ran from Blanche's head but more of a dull black-brown, and her skin was nearly as fair as Blanche's. Their faces were different, though. Blanche's face had the delicacy of a princess' and regality of a queen's—an angular, celestial nose; full, dark lips; wide eyes with long, coal black lashes; gently-arched, dark brows; heart-shaped face with high cheekbones; long, pale neck. On the other hand, Constantine was had a cute sensuality to her, but there was not much beauty in her snub nose, coarse hair, and small, dark eyes. And her body was a bit too knobby for him. Blanche was willowy, but there were curves at her breasts and her hips, and light muscles from her early years as a ballerina. Perhaps with Constantine turned around, he could imagine…

Blanche had gone through nearly forty files by the time Sirius had been gone for twenty-five minutes. She stood up angrily—wand in hand—and left the Detention Chamber. She emptied into the Passage of Fouls and wandered one way, not coming across anything off. When she wandered in the opposite direction, she came across a peculiarly loud broom closet. She pointed her wand to the doorknob, so as not to warn the closet's occupants of her entry.

"Annihilare."

The door opened speedily, revealing the broom closet's inhabitants. And there was Sirius, slamming into a bony Slytherin who always wore her skirt too high. She was in Fifth Year, Blanche believed, and had surely attended a couple of pureblood feasts and balls. She was a Carrow, Blanche remembered. If only her Daddy saw her now—snatch for the rebellious runaway Black.

"Is this a curse I'm unfamiliar with?" She asked with a raised brow and conjured confusion deepened in her face. She didn't care to look at Sirius as he pulled out of Carrow and zipped his trousers up and over a nasty case of blue balls, which had actually taken him a long time to accumulate as Constantine kept looking over his shoulder and ruining the Blanche illusion he'd cast upon himself. "Sirius! I wouldn't want to leave you with… _that…"_ she pointed to the considerable bulge in his pants with laughter.

"I can see you're playing. I'm not falling for this."

"No, really!" She cried with a wicked grin. "I'll even help you out a bit," she said curiously as she took a step into the broom closet. An unholy smirk would have buoyed on Sirius' face if he had not seen her raise her wand and leave it at his throat.

"Please no."

"Oh, stop it! It will only solve matters—I promise!" She feigned a squeal. "Sicas Osculamons," she cast.

Sirius felt nothing in that moment, and looked at her oddly. Who was she to cast a faulty curse? But then again, she did love pressure-sensitive curses and transfigurations, as could be seen with the curse that got her into detention in the first place. He looked at her with a raised brow. "What was that?"

"It wasn't anything!" She laughed, closing the door to the closet behind her loudly.

Constantine got on her knees before him quickly and unzipped his trousers, reaching for him with her mouth. Sirius ignored her trials and pulled her to her feet—all too familiar with her lacklustre blowjobs. He hiked up her skirt once again—prepared to finish his hardness then ask Blanche for forgiveness. He planted a kiss on her lips before tilting her over, unzipping, pulling out, and… nothing. He'd lost it. And for the first time in his life—a bent over, legs-parted, uniform-wearing, panting, pleading, begging, messy-haired, dripping-for-him schoolgirl was not enough to get him hard. He rubbed himself for some time, but got nothing.

"Sirius?" She breathed heavily, sending a hand southwards to try and please herself whilst she waited. Not even that did it.

"I… don't know…" he flustered, flabbergasted. This had not ever happened to him before. And he finally realised… Blanche.

He didn't even apologise as he burst out of the closet, walking toward the Detention Chamber. Normally he would insist on finishing her off after such a failure on his part, but he could not wait. He walked into the room where Blanche was—now consisting of significantly higher stacks of files than before, Evan Rosier leaning with lanky hips on a desk, and Blanche sitting on the floor looking at Rosier with a dreamy expression. Sirius instantly felt a wave of envious heat hit his lungs.

"I didn't even know they were doing that, you know. I never would have allowed that. If I'm winning Quidditch, I like to win the real way…" Rosier shrugged boyishly, looking at Blanche as she grinned in the way she did when she wanted something—canine teeth peeking over her ripe bottom lip, eyes looking through thick lashes, and swanlike neck extended fully.

"Of course you wouldn't. _Men_ win the real way, after all," she hummed, curling one corner of her lips.

"Exactly. They're boys, Snape and Mulciber… Just want to hurt Potter, you know? Don't even care about the game," he shook his head sadly. Neither had looked at Sirius as he stood in the doorframe with his shirt untucked, hair completely askew, and an unfriendly expression on his face. "Severus didn't even get your pig charm, by the way."

"Oh, he didn't?" She frowned.

"No," he shook his head, rolling up his sleeves. "That was a pretty damn good curse, by the way. I won't lie—it's pretty sexy how smart you are," he grinned. _You can say that again,_ Sirius thought.

"You think I'm sexy?" She blushed, tucking back a strand of hair she'd intentionally let fall before her eyes.

Sirius wanted to roll her eyes. Of course she knew she was sexy; she'd have to be braindead not to notice the way boys and men alike worshipped her every word and followed her every step. It was her knowingness and vanity that had, long ago, sealed the deal for Sirius in his love for her. She was never irritatingly modest about her looks—never, ever keeping her light under a bushel. She was no mouse, but a scintillating, sleek panther. It was, perhaps, his favourite quality of hers. But then again, there was all the rest of her… He shook his head. _No,_ he repeated to himself. He insisted he was outraged.

"Of course. Always have. I mean, look at you. But then again, you're not just looks… You've got the brains too. Top in your year, aren't you?"

"Oh, no… There's a couple in front of me in some classes," she shrugged modestly with a shy smile, allowing the shirt to dip further into her cleavage. This contrived modesty sent Sirius on edge, but then he watched Rosier's eyes follow the newly exposed skin; he'd only caught him before he, Sirius himself, was nearly falling into her trap.

"I can only think of Snape in Potions… He's got something out for you and your buddies, you know? Mulciber and him were planning on finishing you guys off with something after the Quidditch match… Can't remember what, though…" he pursed his thin lips.

Sirius cleared his throat and finally made his presence known. Rosier looked at him in surprise, but Blanche didn't take her eyes off of her Slytherin guest. "Can't remember?" Sirius asked menacingly, looking at Rosier with hard eyes as dark as charcoal.

"Oh, Black," he cleared his throat.

"Nice to see you again, Rosier. Though last time I'll admit you were getting a bit too cozy with me. Cobbing, wasn't it?" He asked sharply. Rosier—a year younger than both Sirius and Blanche—was essentially petrified of Sirius anywhere but the Quidditch pitch. Rosier slunk toward the door and squeezed past Sirius.

"I'll see you later, Blanche!" Rosier he ran away from Sirius' glare. Blanche buttoned the top of her shirt once again and clenched her teeth together.

"What the hell was that, you numbskull?!" She seethed at him once Rosier had left the Passage of Fouls.

"What the fuck are you trying to do—punish me for that? Make me jealous after you made me… you know!"

" _Sorry?_ " She laughed. "You think that had to do with you?"

"Well obviously—you wanted me to see you being fawned over by some foul Slytherin jackass who cobbed me in the match…" he gritted his teeth.

"No!" She laughed wildly. "Why would I want to make you jealous?"

"Because… I made you jealous with Constantine," the assumption left his lips before he could understand what he was saying with them. _Because perhaps you love me like I love you?_ He thought. But the look on her face said otherwise.

"What—you think I want you to slam me up in a sodding broom closet and throw me over some old sticks? Why on earth would I be jealous of you and Constantine?"

"But you cursed me," he mumbled curiously.

"I cursed you because you left me all of the files for half an hour. It wasn't like I was going to wait another ten minutes so you could get your rocks off. Merlin's shit, you are thick," she rolled her eyes, returning to her files.

"Then why did you pull Rosier in here?!" He exclaimed, finding his anger once more.

"To see what Snivellus was up to, obviously. I knew he had some involvement, and Rosier just confirmed it," she grinned widely.

Sirius sat back down amongst his piles of folders and silently opened another, perusing its data but not really reading it. He'd thought about the envy his heart leapt with when he saw Blanche smiling nervously up at Rosier, and the way Sirius had thought it was all intentional to get back at him. In his mind, she'd actually been jealous. In reality, she couldn't care at all that he was shagging the life out of a Slytherin imbecile two doors down. At least—it didn't seem like it.

Long after Sirius and Blanche had retired to their own dormitories without much more discussion other than a 'Goodnight,' Blanche lay in bed. She stared at the pine gray draping strung across the four-poster bed and the way it seemed to cool the heat in her cheeks that she'd finally permitted entry. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was that image in her mind: the door flying open, Sirius and Constantine—Constantine and Sirius. It wasn't necessarily something she wanted—or at least she didn't think she did. The situation was not one she would have longed for, but it was more the intimacy she'd run into that she felt jealous of.

Sirius had had an expression on his face she'd never seen before—his features were contorted in a way that would seem unappealing to look at, but was somehow enticing. His bottom lip had been captured between his teeth, and his brow was furrowed in passionate concentration. Most interestingly, she hadn't seen that _look_ in his eyes that he threw at her every now and then—the most intrinsically masculine and lustful look she'd ever seen on any man. It wasn't there in that broom closet.

So Blanche closed her eyes and imagined _that_ look meshed in with the furrowed brow and the bitten lip. She imagined another four-poster bed sheathed in black or scarlet or emerald green—this one much wider than the one in which she lay. She thought of his large hands exploring every uncharted inch and curve, and the face he'd make when she touched him _._

She slept into this dream.

* * *

 _Easter Holidays, 1977_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Whilst James, Lily, and Peter had gone home for the Easter Holidays, Sirius, Remus, and Blanche were left at the school. Blanche and Sirius thought to stay as, if they'd gone, they would only be lying around Sirius' flat for a week. As for Remus—the full moon fell during the holidays, so he'd figure he'd save his parents the trouble of dealing with that. Lyall Lupin had ensured that it was alright for Remus to come, but Remus argued that his visit would place too much stress on his mother Hope, who was ill with pneumonia.

"Blanche, I should not be taking the Arithmancy N.E.W.T.," Sirius spoke quietly with his eyes trained on the fire of the Gryffindor common room. On his lap was one of ten number charts he had yet to do for the class over the break.

"You're better than most of the others in our class," she offered. "You're just lazy and you wait until the last minute."

"What, and you've finished all of your number charts and the consultation essays?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Really? Then what is it you're doing there?" He pointed to the book in her lap.

"She's researching Legilimency," Remus answered quietly, not looking up from his Ancient Runes work.

"Have you any work to do—at all?" Sirius inquired.

"Yes. I haven't practiced nonverbal spells in a while, I've a lab on Dementor defence, and a paper on the nature of human transfiguration."

"So you've done the homework on the evolution of Elder Futhark to Younger Futhark runes?" Remus asked desperately, looking up from his work.

"Yes."

" _Please_ help me answer this," he leant his work toward her and she looked over at it. "Explain the reduction in character from the Elder to the Younger Futhark in relation to other major changes in Norse society."

"Christ—I haven't even looked at that," Sirius sighed.

"The major societal changes were linguistic, specifically being the phonetic differences between Proto-Norse—which was current with Elder Futhark—and Old Norse—which was current with Younger Futhark. The changes resulted in a reduced alphabet."

"Oh," Remus' lips parted in explanation. "Thanks."

Blanche returned to her book and crossed her legs. She was quite interested in Legilimency—especially because every professor refused to teach her anything about it. She wouldn't want to control anyone; she was just interested in taking a glimpse into someone's head. Like… Sirius' head. She'd quite like to look into that. She looked up at him and saw him already staring at her.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing," he shook his head and looked down at his work.

"Hi Sirius," a feminine voice broke the warm and quiet atmosphere Remus, Blanche, and Sirius had constructed in their half-moon around the fireplace. Blanche looked up to see Janis McLaggen, a fifth year who hadn't been of much notice until she blossomed into an attractive, buxom girl the summer after fourth year. Blanche never remembered having a reason to outwardly dislike her, but when she saw her walk through the common room with a flirtatious smile and eyes for Sirius, she found that she really did not like Janis McLaggen.

Blanche slid her wand out of her skirt and kept her mouth shut as she flicked it toward Janis, causing her legs to lock. She fell down before she had a chance to reach the girls' dormitory, and several of her friends went rushing over to hoist her back up.

"Blanche!" Sirius exclaimed with a clenched jaw. Janis looked over to Blanche with a sour, blushing look before resuming her way upstairs—Blanche unlocked her legs after her fall.

"What?" She asked innocently. "I was practicing my nonverbal spells."

"Was a bit rude she didn't bother to greet us," Remus grumbled.

"Thank you!" Blanche rejoiced with a wide grin. Remus rarely ever took sides. "Plus, it's not like you had a chance with her anyway."

"Are you kidding me? She's been wet for me since she was a Second Year," Sirius snorted. A look of distaste crossed Blanche's face in a grimace, and she pinched him as punishment.

"Oh, I'm sure she'd _love_ you to throw her into a broom closet. But that wasn't what I was referring to," Blanche smiled. "I was alluding to your problem… below-the-belt."

"I fixed that!" Sirius exclaimed, looking down nervously to the victim of one of Blanche's curses. He was quite sure that was only a one-time-only occurrence.

"That's not fixed until I say so," she laughed loudly. Remus joined in and Sirius sent him a glower. "I mean there are ways around it… but those are for you to figure out."

"What? I haven't been with anyone since Constantine. I've given him time to recover. He should be fine!"

"This has nothing to do with a recovery period. This has to do with my decision to un-curse you."

"Well… do it!" He cried.

"No."

"What? Why?! What did I ever do to you?!"

" _Plenty."_

Blanche stood up with her book and prepared to walk away, but before she left she reached down and crumpled Sirius' Arithmancy chart into a ball and dropped it back onto his lap. After that, she walked away.

Sirius released a long huff of frustrated air and flattened his Arithmancy homework before watching Blanche leave the Gryffindor common room through the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"You really don't go about some things very brightly," Remus shook his head and never brought his eyes up to meet Sirius'. Sirius looked at him with a scowl that Remus didn't see.

"What is that supposed to mean? Is there any way to 'brightly' go about this curse?" Sirius inquired sarcastically. "I barely did anything. She just walked in on me shagging a Sly—a girl. Some Fifth Year, I think…" he instantly covered Constantine's house. He didn't think Remus would mind much, but James would be livid if he discovered Sirius had slept with a Slytherin.

"It means you're missing the obvious. Why would she curse you so that you can't shag any girls except her?"

"Except her?" Sirius repeated confusedly.

"Curses generally recognise their caster. I could be wrong because Blanche made that curse, but I don't believe it would apply to her—just saying."

"Oh, well I don't imagine that was intentional, but," he began, but saw great doubt in Remus' eyes. "What?"

"Never mind that. Why do you think she'd curse you?"

"She was angry I left detention for thirty minutes to meet with Constantine."

"So did she curse you temporarily?"

"Obviously not. I'm still bloody cursed, she says," Sirius barked.

"So you didn't answer my question. Why would she cast a curse upon you that prevents you from shagging _any_ girls?"

"Because she's angry I left detention—"

"No!" Remus huffed, rolling his eyes. "You're not thinking, Sirius. Blanche does hold a burden, but she's not absolutely unreasonable. Why would she prevent you from shagging anyone?"

"I don't know!" Sirius cried, slamming his head into his palms.

"You may be smart, but sometimes I swear you're as dumb as a bloody rock," Remus shook his head. "She cursed you so you can't shag anyone because she doesn't _want_ you shagging anyone."

"Because she's angry with me?"

"Because she's in love with you and she's jealous!"

Sirius sat quietly before bursting out into laughter. "Really, Remus—I thought you knew her better. Blanche doesn't get _jealous,"_ he guffawed. "And if Blanche loved me, she would have hopped on long ago. She's had years."

"You _git!"_ Remus hit him in the head. It was a daring move, as Sirius could surely throw the heavier punch after years of being a Beater. He'd seen him take on other boys before and it always ended dreadfully for the opponent. Sirius, however, just felt the forming bump under his hair and scowled. "She's a human being—obviously she gets jealous. And just because you fell in love with her after a week of knowing her, doesn't mean she's been sure of her feelings for you since she first met you. It's taken her years to realise how she's felt about you, and I reckon she still hasn't even admitted it to herself. But not shagging every bird that saunters into your line of sight, and starting to give a damn whether or not it's hurting her, is _definitely_ a step in the right direction—whether it's because of a curse or not! So why don't you get your head out of _your_ infatuation with her and actually take a look at the way she's feeling about you for once!

Can you imagine how she's doing right now? She's torn up that someone has finally cracked that icy façade she's spent years constructing, she's heartbroken because it's _you_ who's done it—the boy who keeps a journal full of his shags under his bed, she's confused because she lost her mother and her home in a week's time, she's depressed because her own father used an Unforgivable Curse on her, she's bitter because her best friend is in a happy relationship and she doesn't even know how to be, she's angry because a gang of Slytherins have it out for her best friends, she's scarred by whatever the hell her wretched father has done to her in the past, she's ashamed because of who her family is, and she's hopeless because all she ever does is keep all of this locked up inside her.

I'm not saying she has it any harder than you, but I think she needs a lot more help than she lets on. And you're the only one she ever considers spilling her guts to, but all you can think about is the fact that you can't get it up for anyone. Maybe she prevented you from shagging anyone because she actually wants some genuine, undivided attention from you."

Remus looked back to his homework with a long and exasperated breath. With sloppy penmanship, he answered a question about the orthographical similarities between different Norse runes.

Sirius sat there for a few moments, as stiff as a statue. He even appeared so to everyone else in the room—most of whom had noticed that Remus had spoken for longer than minute straight in public. It was quite an odd thing to see—as was seeing Sirius being told off without giving back any snarky retorts.

"Remus, where's the map?" Sirius asked urgently, getting on his feet and jumping anxiously on his heels.

"What?" His brow furrowed. "Oh. Under James' pillow, I think."

"Cheers," Sirius answered, turning before stopping himself. "I'm an inconsiderate arsehole," he admitted to Remus, who only sighed in response and met his eyes.

"Sometimes, yes," Remus nodded.

"God bless you, you mangey wolf," Sirius sighed before running off up the stairs.


	10. Water-Logged Love

**Well, this is a horrifically long one... But an important one! After nine loooooong chapters, we finally get to see Blanche warm up! Enjoy my loves, and PLEASE let me know what you think by commenting; it matters to me and inspires me more than anything. I love you all!**

* * *

 _Easter Holidays, 1977_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

It took Sirius a moment to find Blanche's name on the map he held entirely unfolded in his hands—after all, she could have been anywhere. But she wasn't as far as he would have guessed. Her little feet marked in ink were located in the Prefects' Bathroom on the fifth-floor corridor between the Hospital Tower and the Clock Tower. It was a decent walk from the Gryffindor Tower, but Sirius figured she could have been walking on the borders of the Forbidden Forest—as she had before. That would have been a much farther and riskier walk.

Sirius ran most of the way, but cursed to himself when he arrived to the statue of Boris the Bewildered. The stone effigy wore a confused expression and gloves on the wrong hands. Sirius couldn't remember the password to this bathroom. James had once told him—as he had access, being captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and Head Boy—but he couldn't remember. He fumbled around in his pockets for the shard of mirror he always kept on him. Sometime in Fifth Year he and James had been drunk and accidentally cracked Sirius' mirror. The accident revealed itself as a blessing in disguise—as the shard of mirror was much more portable than the entire mirror itself.

"James!" He shouted into the mirror, looking between the mirror and the map for footsteps of Filch, Peeves, Mrs. Butternicke, or any professors. He was in the clear. James failed to respond for a moment and the mirror only reflected Sirius' face. But after calling James' name several times, Sirius managed to get a hold of him. Sirius could see Lily's orange hair on James' shoulder; Sirius wasn't surprised to see neither of them could go without seeing one another over the Easter Holidays.

"What's up, Padfoot?" James asked.

"Hi Sirius!" Lily called into the mirror. James tilted it so Lily could wave at Sirius.

"Hello Lily," Sirius greeted curtly. "Prongs, what's the password to the Prefects' Bathroom?"

"Pine Fresh, why?" James asked.

"No reason. Thinking of taking a bath," Sirius lied. "See you two next Monday!"

Sirius put the mirror in his pocket, cutting off James' voice. He glanced at the map again to see if anyone was coming—he was still safe. "Pine Fresh," Sirius said and the door to the bathroom opened slowly.

Instantly a rush of colour flew through the opened door—even in the darkness of the night. A wild braid of scents flooded into Sirius' nose once the door was ajar. He stepped into the bathroom which he had surprisingly never visited before. It was quite extraordinary. On one side were bathroom stalls—but not like those in the standard boys' and girls' bathrooms. These were set in marble and fronted with ornate brass doors depicting carved scenes of fish and sea squids. Opposite the stalls was a massive tub sunken into the ground; it was ringed with at least a hundred different taps, each decorated individually and jewelled in a unique design and metal. Along the walls above the tub were massive paintings of mermaids. The largest painting was in the centre—a fair-haired merwoman slept upon a rock sturdily set in icy waves. The light occasionally flickered across her lavender tail.

Beneath rows of towels, robes, and beauty products, and beneath the hundreds of taps, the tub was already frothed with pale blue bubbles as thick as cream. These bubbles seemed to take up most of the tub, but Sirius realised several other taps were still flowing. An arc of midnight blue soap flew into the froth, and another tap released pearly bubbles as big as globes. Sirius watched as a familiar, slender hand reached out to pop one—sending transparent feathers into the air to float downwards and descend into nothing.

"That's my favourite, you know," a pitchy voice sounding from someplace within the bubbles. "You should try the tap with the row of rubies—I love that too."

Blanche swam across the tub to turn on a tap encrusted in rubies; it expelled a sparkling stream of soap the colour of blood. When it poured into the tub and combined with the water, it transformed into a molten gold shimmering atop the pale blue bubbles.

"I quite like that one too," Blanche giggled. Sirius rarely ever heard that. Blanche turned in the pool so her face was directed towards him. Her lips parted and her brow furrowed at the sight of him in the humid room, already taking off his watch. "Sirius?"

"I saw him, but I didn't care to mention," the squeaky voice sounded again. Soon enough, the silvery ghost of Myrtle Warren was upon him. "And I'm not sure if I can deter him."

"How'd you get in here?" Blanche asked, keeping her shoulders beneath the bubbles.

"James told me the password," Sirius answered slowly, walking toward the tub with a dreamy expression on his face. He kicked off his shoes and socks as he drew closer.

"What do you think you're doing?" Blanche asked him sternly.

"You _can't_ go in whilst _she's_ in!" Myrtle cried, gliding around in front of him. Her authoritative scowl transformed into a flirty smile when she saw his face again. "Though, I wouldn't mind you coming back another time to get in…"

"No, I'm getting in now," he responded adamantly. He pulled his black sweater over his head and threw it behind him where it landed in a pile alongside his watch, the Marauder's Map and the Two-Way Mirror.

As he began to unbutton his shirt, a new snicker sounded through the bathroom. He followed the origin of the noise and looked up at the mermaid in the biggest painting once again, who was flicking her tail and flashing luminescent lights toward him. She was awake now.

"Oh no, not her…" Myrtle whined from behind him. But Sirius was not staved off by Myrtle nor the beautiful mermaid braiding her hair in the painting. He continued to unbutton his shirt, and shrugged it off his shoulders when he was done.

"Sirius, I'm serious!" Blanche cried desperately, moving across the tub to her pile of clothes.

"It's not really the same when you do it… Seeing you're not named Sirius, you know?" He grinned whilst he walked over to her pile of clothes and kicked them away before she could reach them—as well as her wand. "It would be greatly appreciated if you didn't wandlessly curse me, too. I think I deserve a fair chance just about now."

"You nutter!" She exclaimed, splashing a wave of gilded water toward him with her hand. He began unbuckling his belt as the water hit him and he laughed.

"That's warm! I quite like this. I should have been a prefect," he sighed. "Remus never even comes in here, you know? Probably doesn't want to please himself, the self-denying git," Sirius laughed as he pulled down his trousers and briefs in one tug.

"Christ on Earth, Sirius!" Blanche shouted and covered her eyes with her hand. Sirius heard both Myrtle and the mermaid giggle in chorus.

"Speaking of Remus," Sirius cleared his throat. He slid into the water and bubbles with surprising grace and was soon immersed in foam. He cleared some away with his hands and looked for Blanche, who was hiding in a corner with her eyes still covered. "He had some interesting things to say to me, just now. And I still say he's a self-denying git, but I should add that he's a _wise_ , self-denying git."

Blanche finally uncovered her eyes to see him swimming toward her. It was too deep for her in the middle of the pool, so she sat on the edges where she could hold onto a golden bar that ran around the corners. "I'm naked, Sirius!"

"That's certainly not going to turn me away," Sirius laughed and she rolled her eyes, realising the truth in that. She sunk lower into the bubbles so Sirius could only see her eyes and the damp, blue-black fringe that hung over her forehead. "Anyway, Remus says I'm dumb as a doornail and reminds me that you're a human being."

"Oh—so kind of you to remember!" She finally participated in the repartee.

"I know—and I admitted to my idiocy and my thick-headedness. But that was after Remus told me about how he thought you were feeling."

Sirius was tall enough to stand in the deepest part of the pool and still be exposed from the shoulders up. Thankfully for Blanche, he stopped moving toward her when he was within a metre of her—not ideal but she had some room to breathe. Although that was limited when she infrequently met his eyes. The humidity had caused his hair to curl more tightly and a sheen of moisture to develop on his fair skin. He seemed to glow to her—just then. His eyes shone and his lips were pinker with warmth.

"And how does Remus think _I'm_ feeling?" She mocked with a laugh.

"Well, I can't repeat what he said because it went on for a few solid minutes. But it began with torn-up and ended with hopeless… Mostly because everything is an honest train wreck for you right now, and the person who's supposed to pick up the mess is a selfish ass who only thinks about himself."

Blanche's firm expression broke for a moment—her eyes lost their harsh, icy polish and her lips softened. "I don't need anyone to pick up the mess," she stated.

"That's not true," he shook his head, taking a step closer. "And I don't care how many times you deny it, because I've been there when you can't pick it up yourself. I've seen it. You need someone. You need… me," he insisted and began to push out the words they'd been holding back for quite some time now. "Because you love me, and I love you. And you can deny it as many times as you'd like, but we love each other. I don't mean as best friends; I mean we _really_ love each other."

Sirius waited for Myrtle's girlish giggle to run through the air, or the mermaid's womanly chuckling to sing soothingly into the echoing bathroom. He waited for Blanche to stun him wandlessly, or to run away with a conjured towel. But nothing happened.

"Say something," he urged.

"Like what?" She answered nervously.

"Anything."

"Do you know what your curse is called?" She enquired quietly, letting go of the golden bar.

"No," Sirius shook his head.

"It's called the Dry Kiss," she answered. "You can't kiss anyone with the hopes of it leading to something more. It kills physical arousal. It's my curse," she grinned minutely and secretly. She reached up to turn on a tap coated in syrupy topaz. Out flooded small amber birds that dove right into the water, turning the foam faintly yellow. The birds chirped cheerfully before their submersion into the tub. The sound reminded Sirius of spring mornings.

"I can kiss you," he remembered the words from earlier.

Blanche grinned widely. "Remus told you that. It's the nature of the curse. A weapon can recognise its master."

"That's how he knew you loved me," he replied quickly, following her as she moved to the nearest corner of the rectangular tub. "You got jealous the other day—even though you laughed at me when I suggested it."

"I wasn't jealous of Constantine," she clarified, pushing her shoulders against the tub walls.

"That wasn't what it was about," he shook his head. "It didn't have to do with Constantine. It had to do with sex."

Blanche's cheeks flooded with pink, but she sank deeper again into the bubbles so he couldn't see. "No," she denied, reaching for another tap. It was silver and dotted with mounds of opal. When it was on, a sweet fog emptied into the pool and obscured Blanche's face. He moved closer to her to see her better.

"It did. And I don't mean the actual act of it, really. It was the intimacy that made you jealous. You don't like seeing me close with anyone, because the only one you could ever be close with is me."

Blanche thought of that closeness and intimacy in the vision she'd slept into the night she'd found Sirius and Constantine—as well as the reappearances he'd been making in her dreams of late. "Maybe," she looked down at the white expanse of bubbles.

"And you made it so I couldn't be intimate and close with anyone but you. So here I am," he opened his arms, as though indicating for her to come to him _finally_ after the years that had passed. But she grew nervous and cold again—looking away for Myrtle, who had disappeared.

"I'll un-curse you, alright?" She partially forced the misinterpretation.

"No. I don't want you to," he shook his head. His words caused her to look away from the mermaid who only watched them now. A pink smile sat on her lips.

"Of course you do. You just begged me to in the common room—"

"That was before Remus slapped some sense into me. But you're going to play fair. You know that I love you, and I know that you love me—whether you care to admit it or not. But if you want to keep up this cold castle you've got yourself locked in, then I'm not going to force you out of it. I'm not going to make you say you love me. You're going to have to realise it and say it on your own. And if you're not going to now, then I want you to remove this curse from me, because as madly in love with you as I am—it's not fair to me.

But if you tell me that you love me now and you stop hiding from me like you always have, then I don't want you to uncurse me. I will embrace this curse."

A moment of quiet wandered by, and one loose amber bird flew away from its track and soared between them with a twitter before diving into the water.

"I'm not brave like you are," she admitted, swimming away from the tub's edge. "Did you know that I'm actually very weak?"

Sirius scoffed. "You're the strongest woman I know."

"Strong castle, weak king," she said as she tried to stand on the tops of her toes. She tilted her mouth up to breathe and walk deeper into the pool.

"You're avoiding the topic," Sirius insisted.

"No, I'm not," she began and coughed as water flooded into her mouth. She was soon submerged in the bubbles before Sirius blindly grabbed for her waist, laughing as he pulled her upward. "Thanks."

"How are you not avoiding the topic?"

Blanche moved to another tap—which Sirius thought wasn't the brightest idea as the bubbles were already reaching the bathroom stalls. This tap was only gold with no adorning jewels or designs; Blanche cupped her hand under it and took a fistful of the emerald substance that dripped out. She turned off the tap and began massaging the soap into her hair.

"And I hate it when you make fun of virginity. It's not my fault I don't know how to make sex into nothing like you," she answered. She dunked in the water and washed the soap out.

"Okay, I get that. I shouldn't do that," he said when she reemerged and bit the inside of his lip. "Now will you stop procrastinating?"

"And when you asked me if you could come stay at my house when you ran away, I was afraid my dad would kill you. That's why I said no. I wish I could've said yes. You would have had the spare bedroom beside mine—it shares a bathroom," she smiled sadly, then looked at him with watery eyes. "You don't know how bad I felt when I refused you."

"It's alright—I forgive you. But I don't think he would have killed me. I'm your best friend—blood traitor or not."

"He's done it before," a tear leaked down her cheek. She wiped it aside with a knuckle and swam away before Sirius could close in on her and question her on this further. She cleared the sorrow from her voice. "And I write you double the amount of letters during the summer than those I actually send. Every other letter I throw away because I don't want you to know how much I miss you. Also, I'd probably kill Sulwen."

"What are you doing? I'm horribly confused," he shook his head. "And that's so sweet, but I'd really like it if you stayed on track. I adore the mindless ramblings you so often keep to yourself, but I beg of you."

"No one's ever called me sweet, I don't think," she muttered. "And you really are dumb as a doornail."

"Pardon?"

"I'm not hiding anything. These are my secrets," she whispered, looking around for Myrtle before eyeing him. "I've loads of them. Do you want to know another?"

"Yes, of course, but I—"

Then she was underwater and Sirius couldn't even see her swimming around beneath the bubbles. He tried to feel out for her but received nothing; he was partially glad for this, for if he'd grabbed something private, she would not have reacted well.

A large splash sounded from behind him and two forearms wrapped around his shoulders. His brows shot upward at the sensation of her round, small breasts against the space between his shoulder blades. He turned his head abruptly as the sensation and looked at her. She was smiling at him brightly—there was an ease on her face that he couldn't ever remember seeing before, and he could already feel the lack of effect of the curse when it met its caster.

"And I can do this," she said with a mouth full of water. Then she shot out a thin, sharp stream from the small space between her front teeth. The water hit him in the eyes and he laughed, squinting. "And I love you. I have for a very long time, too."

The grin on Sirius' face dropped to a purely happy smile. He extended his neck to press his lips to hers when she did the same, and they met in a familiarly domestic kiss. Both were warm and slightly soapy, but the kiss remained the same—pleasant, soft, and honest. She pulled away from him and brushed her finger across his mildly scratchy cheek, as he hadn't shaved for two days.

"What does this mean I have to do for you?" She enquired, the happiness wilting slightly but a smile remaining.

"Nothing."

"What—you don't want me to… I don't know… _do_ things—" She forced out.

"You don't even have to hold my hand, if you don't want to. All I want you to do is… let me carry some of your burdens for you. Just be honest with me."

The smile resurfaced like a buoy that'd been kept underwater. "Thank you, Sirius. I love you."

The words from her mouth made his blood feel like warm sugar in his veins. A massive smile split his face in two. He took one of her hands that was hanging onto his shoulders and planted a kiss in the warm centre of her palm. "I love you too."

She kissed the pronounced ball of his jaw in response, then departed from her embrace. "Do you want to see what each of the taps does?"

Moaning Myrtle eventually returned, diving into the water and circling around Sirius. She would giggle every time she came back up—blushing at what she saw under the water. Meanwhile Blanche was someplace hidden in the bubbles that now consumed the entirety of the bathroom. The mermaid above was singing something rather lovely about a castle under the sea.

The pyramid of towels on a shelf below the mermaid was fully enveloped in bubbles by the time Blanche decided to dry off, but a charm had been placed on them so that they didn't grow damp. Sirius couldn't see her as she got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel, but he did hear Myrtle ask where she was going.

"Abullabos," she casted, and the bubbles began to simmer away slowly. "Lily taught me it," she gladly informed him.

The water was clear by the time the bubbles all disappeared, but Sirius was concealed by the darkness of the deep waters. He finally saw her again sitting on the ledge with her already waterlogged feet hanging into the pool. She was wrapped in a towel and was drying her hair with another slowly.

"There's a charm for getting rid of bubbles?" Sirius enquired, placing his hands on the marble floor beside her hips and placing his chin on her knees.

"There's a charm for everything," she answered.

"Do you make any charms yourself?"

"Just hexes and jinxes and light curses. Charms are too hard and far too dangerous—they're immediate action and only reversible with a counter-charm. Jinxes, hexes, and curses aren't hard to erase, but charms are different."

"You could make them if you wanted to though, couldn't you?" He asked her, moving to hold her towel-clad hips lightly. It wasn't a touch of seduction—he just liked having physical contact with her, and he didn't have to hide it anymore.

"I suppose," Sirius nodded against her leg and rested a cheek upon the top of her lower thigh. "Do you think I'm… uncomfortable?"

Sirius looked up with a furrowed brow. "Sorry?"

"Like, physically. One time Lily crawled in my bed because of a nightmare and the next day she said sleeping with me in a bed was like sleeping with a pile of rocks and sticks," she pursed her lips.

Sirius laughed loudly—partially at Lily's comment but mostly at Blanche self-consciousness, which he'd not ever head her voice before. He could hardly believe a girl as beautiful as her had even a shred of physical insecurity. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not really sure. Do you think it's true?"

"Absolutely not," he instantly responded. She was angular and could be rather stiff, but when he worked her right she could curl up like a soft and warm little kitten. He'd seen it before, when she was drunk or tired and slumped onto his shoulder or lap.

"You're just saying that," she looked at him doubtfully, then drew her legs out from the pool and from under his chin.

"Blanche!" He laughed loudly, hoisting himself out of the tub. She turned at his voice but instantly shied away.

"Sirius!" She gasped, covering her eyes. Myrtle giggled long and highly, circling around him in delight. The mermaid's song picked up with a titter. Still not bothering with a towel, he walked over to her and wrapped his wet arms tightly around her.

"You're not bony or uncomfortable," he grinned and tightened his grip on her.

"Put a towel on, you swine!" She cried, worming away from his touch.

"Do you believe me?" He insisted.

"Fine!" She cried.

"Good," he nodded. "Can I have a kiss?"

"I thought you weren't going to make me do anything!"

"Well, if you really don't want to…" he shrugged. "It was just a request—"

Blanche placed a fast kiss on his lips. "Put on a towel!"

* * *

 _Late April 1978_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Blanche quite liked watching Sirius practice nearly every evening of the week. She told Lily she was studying—which she _was_ doing, somewhat—and watched from one of the seats closest to a black-and-white stand. She often brought a thick blanket with her and sat on the floor of the seats, using her lap as a surface to write on.

Every night after they'd finished practicing at six o'clock, Sirius would shower speedily then sneak out of the bathrooms before James realised he was gone. He'd find Blanche putting her full attention into her work now that he'd left the fields, and often had to shake her out of her studious trance. Today, however, she had fallen asleep on the floor of the stands—an especially uncomfortable place to rest.

Blanche's sleeping face was tucked into her upper arm and one hand was still loosely gripping her quill. Her scarlet and gold Gryffindor blanket was wrapped around her head and only her face was visible within the cradle of warm wool.

Sirius knelt before her and watched her for a few moments—a considerable weight on her face appeared to be relieved in sleep. He would have liked to watch her sleep more than he did—she looked the most beautiful in the peace of a dream. Her full lips were parted slightly and the colour of watered wine.

Sirius, however, had to wake her so she didn't get frostbite on the exposed parts of her. The blankets provided by the common rooms were deceptively warm—they were charmed to heat their wearer and create the illusion of a hot and comfortable atmosphere.

"Blanche," he said her name and removed the quill from her hand. He wrapped it in his own and warmed it with a few kisses to her fingers. She released a tired and muffled sound against her arm. He repeated her name more loudly.

"Mmm?" She mumbled against her arm and tilted her head so it fell onto her homework. At the sensation she jolted up and cursed at the coldness in her face and hands. "Damn it."

"I know. You have to be careful with these," Sirius warned as he tucked her hands into his own robes.

"No, it's not that… This essay is due next Wednesday," she whined and looked at the single paragraph she had written.

"That's in a week," Sirius' brow dropped.

"Exactly," she groaned, but rolled up the parchment. "I've got to go finish this," she yawned, trying to stand.

"Oh, come on, Blanche!" Sirius cried, helping her to her feet. "Let's go out."

"I'm cold," she argued, but Sirius only reacted by hugging her tightly and forcing her to bury her face within his robes.

"And you know what will warm you up?" He asked.

"The common room—"

"The Three Broomsticks—" they spoke simultaneously. Blanche pulled away and looked at him with a tired, vacant expression. He grinned at her from above. "Come on—it'll be fun. A bit of good old Sirius and Blanche rule-breaking."

"That's such a hike," she grimaced. "We'd have to walk back to the school, go to the Serpentine Corridor or the mirror on the fourth floor, or walk _all_ the way to Hogsmeade—"

"Or," Sirius held out his arm. "We could Apparate."

"You can't Apparate on school grounds."

Sirius grinned widely. "You're right… We can't Apparate on remembered school grounds…"

Blanche sighed. "I reckon know's the time I furrow my brows and ask myself—what have Sirius and James figured out _this_ time?"

"You're clever, young Blanche. But not enough, it appears, as you are still unaware of the Forgotten Grounds."

"The Forgotten Grounds?" Blanche repeated. From sneaking around the school after hours, Blanche had a pretty keen idea of what the Hogwarts grounds looked like and consisted of. However, she had no recollection of the Forgotten Grounds. "What are those?"

"Perhaps this is why they're called the Forgotten Grounds," Sirius sighed and pulled her forward with him. He rolled up her parchment for her and led her down the stands, toward the scoring area, then down into the structural support beneath the stands closest to the goal baskets. She's never been down this deep into the pitch and—in fact—hadn't even known it was there. Or perhaps… she'd forgotten. Were these the grounds he spoke of?

But Sirius eventually pulled up the coloured hangings that hung from the wooden beams, allowing her to exit the interior of the stands. Before she stepped out, she examined the flap of material was lightly scratched with ink reading: 'TO GROUNDS FORGOTTEN, where only memories prevail.'

"Always one for theatrics, aren't you Sirius?" She hummed, stepping out of the opening in the fabric. She looked around her and was surprised to see something entirely unexpected. There were two stone pillars connected with a rusty gate, and beyond that a gnarled stretch of weed. She pursed her lips and tried to envision the Quidditch pitch from a bird's eye view, but figured her memory was poorer than she'd originally thought as she couldn't ever remember this area existing.

"Confused, Blanche?" Sirius snidely remarked behind her. He approached the crusted lock on the gate. Blanche heard it unlock after Sirius simply said: "I'd like you to unlock, please."

"Where are on earth are we?" Blanche urged as she followed Sirius into the tangled grasses. She looked around to see some sign of attention to the yard, as a Puffapod patch sat alongside one of the stone pillars on the inside. Signs of inattention fought this, however, when Blanche also spotted an overgrown Venomous Tentacula at the opposite corner and an infestation of Horklumps scattered across the weeds.

"We're in the Forgotten Grounds. They're nonexistent to anyone who's forgotten them," Sirius finally explained. Blanche looked for any other signs of life, but saw that the stone pillars only continued down the yard and disappeared into a wood so thick she was unsure if she could even step into it. "We can Apparate here."

"How's that?" Blanche enquired.

"This is the only place in the Hogwarts grounds where the Anti-Disapparition Jinx isn't in effect."

"And, again, how's that?"

"Well, no one really knows which Headmaster put the jinx upon the school—but there was one that removed the jinx just in these grounds so her favourite students could Disapparate for Dogweed and Deathcap in Hogsmeade whenever they liked. Her students planted that Tentacula, in fact. Can you guess which headmistress it was?"

"A headmistress with a knack for herbology, you say?" Blanche sighed in thought, mentally reviewing her many tests on _Hogwarts, A History._ "Dilys Derwent was a healer, possibly her. Better guess would be Phyllida Spore, but she lived in the fifteenth century."

"The latter. Making that wretched Tentacula roughly six hundred years old. Five hundred and fifty years too long, if you ask me."

The Venomous Tentacula snapped one of its appendage-like branches and bit the air with its grotesque, misshapen mouth. Blanche pulled Sirius aside by the sleeve to ensure they would miss its poison if it decided to shoot.

"And how've you remembered this place?" Blanche asked.

"Believe it or not—Peter. Don't tell him I told you this but he has quite a talent for herbology. Always reading up on it. A few months ago he bought a book called _The Herbological History of Hogwarts,_ and read the rumours about this place. Took us all a while to figure out how to get to it, but it's a pretty easy way of Disapparating without having to go to Hogsmeade first. Suppose it comes in handy when you're at the pitch with someone too lazy to go back to Hogwarts and take the secret passageway to Hogsmeade."

"Shut up," she rolled her eyes. "Why am I just now hearing about this?"

Sirius shrugged. "We all just got it working. Wanted to make sure it wasn't a dud before showing you," he said, clearing his throat after he inadvertently admitted his desire to impress her.

"Alright then," she nodded. "You or me?"

Sirius held out her arm and she grabbed it, then was torn into the irritatingly nauseating torrent of Apparition. Her stomach heaved when her feet met the snowy floor of High Street.


	11. Late-Night Learning

**So this is certainly one of my favourite chapters right here... It's just too cute and I loved writing it more than anything. Also just to let you all know I'm going to start responding to any questions/enquiries/guesses you all have, so feel free to ask in the comments. Furthermore, PLEASE leave your review its helps me _so much more_ than you know. Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

 _Late April 1978_

 _Hogsmeade Village_

Blanche looked up and was met with the doily-trimmed, pastel façade of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. Her stomach lurched again.

"Care for a cuppa?" Sirius grinned widely, catching her reaction to the shop.

"I'd rather be dead," she shook her head. "Anyway—you can't mock Madam Puddifoot's. James and Remus've told me you've been in there nearly a hundred times."

"Only because nearly every girl I've been with makes me take her on a date before she's willing to get down and dirty," Sirius defended. "That's the only place they like to go!"

He realised he shouldn't have said anything by the look on Blanche's face. Every part of her face wilted in a sour frown. "You make me feel sicker than does Madam Puddifoot's."

"I'm sorry. I'm an imbecile—really, I am. I regret it all," he genuinely apologised. He didn't feel as though she'd grasped his sincerity when she ripped her arm away from him and walked down High Street past the couple snogging in the window of Madam Puddifoot's. Sirius followed along, trying to make excuses for his previous actions and failing miserably. He ran into her when she turned sharply to enter Tomes and Scrolls.

By the time Sirius walked in after collapsing in the snow when Blanche pushed him over for running into her, she was already deep in conversation with the bookstore owner, a middle-aged, ruddy-faced wizard by the name of Ceolmund Stump. After a decent amount of time of Blanche racing through the aisles with Sirius following after her offering to pay, she dropped a massive stack of books on the counter. Sirius tilted his head to look at her selection: _Confronting the Faceless,_ all seven volumes of _Chadwick's Charms, Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimency, Alchemical duodecimo, Brains Before Blood: A Quidditch Strategist's Guide to Calculated Victory, Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes, Living With Legilimens: Choose Your Mind Wisely,_ something in Russian, _Magical Translations from Russian for the Over-excellent Wizarding Student,_ and _The Beaters' Bible._

Sirius looked at her oddly for a moment whilst Stump rung up the books, but fished into his pockets when she looked at him expectantly. He didn't bother enquiring about the odd and plentiful selection of books she insisted on carrying herself as they walked toward the Three Broomsticks. Only when she slammed the two stacks of books down on the table did he wonder: "So…"

Blanche pulled out the viridian book Sirius had been most curious about before— _The Beaters' Bible._ She slid it over to him and he took it in his hands, opening it. It was quite an old book, but Sirius grinned upon seeing the first rule was singularly and boldly put: 'I. Take out the Seeker.'

"James'd like that," Sirius laughed to himself. He looked up. "Did you get this for me?"

"Yes. Well, you did pay for it. But I went to Madam Hooch about Slytherins' dirty game and she told me that the only way to recover now was to demolish Ravenclaw in May. She recommended a few tactic and strategy books—that was one of them. The other Quidditch book's for James. He'd like that, wouldn't he?" She wondered.

"Are you kidding? I reckon he'd wank to it," Sirius laughed, then stopped himself. He'd been really trying to clean up his parlance whenever he was around Blanche, seeing their new status in relationship… Whatever that was, seeing she resisted all of his attempts to talk about it. He never spoke nastily around any of the girls he'd dated before, but none of those girls had been his best friend before his girlfriend. Sirius was just used to talking to her like he did with James, Remus, and Peter. She'd never really liked it, but she'd usually ignored it. Sirius now realised that it was his responsibility to make sure their relationship would not be about 'ignoring it.' "Sorry about that," he apologised.

"About what?" She looked up from the book she'd opened. It appeared she hadn't really assumed Sirius would make a difference in the way he spoke and acted around her. In fact—as Sirius really thought about it—she didn't act much differently around him at all than she had before. He'd give that they nearly spent every waking minute together now, but none of that time was spent flirting or kissing or even talking about how they felt. And not that Sirius enjoyed a constant outflow of emotional attachment, but he'd like if she reminded him that she'd admitted she loved him several weeks ago.

Sirius reached out and took her hand upon the table, gently enclosing it in his own. He watched Blanche's eyes move from the page to their hands, then up to Sirius' face with a judgmental look on her own. "Yes?"

It took Sirius a significant effort not to break out into laughter when he was struck with the irony of it all. For when he saw the look of harsh appraisal on her face, he saw his own self reflected in her. He couldn't count how many times a girl had made an unnecessary move on him—one which only irritated him.

Sirius let go of her hand and let out an exasperated breath. He watched her eyes zoom through the lines on each page and realised she was much more interested in her books than him. He considered making a move of defiance—ripping the book out of her hands, talking animatedly to the couple two tables down from them, getting irritatingly drunk… All things that would annoy her.

"My shoulders hurt," Sirius announced. Gradually, as Blanche realised that was all he was going to say, she looked up at him.

"Why?" She enquired hesitantly. They rarely talked about their own small problems in such a casual way.

"Quidditch practice. James has been mad with it lately. He charms the Bludgers so they come after me and won't stop until half of practice is over. Every time I beat one off, the next comes over and knocks me off my broom."

"Is that why you've been zooming around aimlessly?" Blanche smiled. Whilst she divided her time between watching Sirius practice and doing her homework, she had managed to notice Sirius would spend at least an hour flying in circles—pausing—beating—getting hit—repeat.

"It's _not_ aimless," Sirius insisted. "I'm trying not to get killed. You missed a practice a few days ago where I fell off my broom from ten metres up. James just laughed at me. It was lovely."

"Of course he did," she shook her head. "No wonder your shoulders hurt."

"No—I landed on my back, so that's just covered in bruises. My shoulders hurt because I have to hit those bloody Bludgers every ten seconds or else I'll be beaten to death. You've never hit those, but it's like slapping a comet with a twig. Throws my right shoulder out four out of every five times."

"Oh," Blanche frowned. "It's sore?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"In Herbology we made Butterfly Weed Balm. When you rub it on your skin over sore muscles, it alleviates the pain. It's quite handy for everything, really; sort of a panacea. Also a disinfectant for wounds. I can give you some, if you'd like," she suggested pleasantly. Sirius smiled as he saw her making an effort to be kind to him. A couple of months ago she would have said 'get over it' or 'you'll live.' Now it seemed to Sirius as though she wanted him to be comfortable. It was a small change but a change nonetheless.

"Okay, good. I can't wait to force James to put that on me," Sirius laughed.

"I can do it."

Sirius' grin left his face slowly as he looked up at her, watching a faint blush blossom on her ivory cheeks. Her bright blue eyes flitted and widened slightly in shock to what she'd just said.

"Alright," he nodded. She swallowed visibly and looked back down to her book. Her eyes weren't coursing over the page as they were before, though; she was thinking about something else. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand again in the strange domesticity they'd just stepped in and the affection she'd just managed, but he thought she was nervous enough for the time being.

"Sirius, haven't seen you 'round here in a few weeks! Where've you been?!" Madam Rosmerta was hovering beside the table before Sirius could realise. Shortly after processing her words, he registered that he was not in a good situation. He watched Blanche look up to the shapely, blonde-haired barmaid who'd always gotten on her nerves. What was worse was that sometime before Christmas, Sirius had found himself in Rosmerta's bed one evening.

"Uhm… Around. Could we have one Butterbeer and…?" He looked to Blanche.

"Two Butterbeers, mine with ginger."

"Sure thing, sweetheart!" Rosmerta said to Blanche. Sirius internally cringed at the term of endearment. Rosmerta turned back to Sirius. "How've you been? Still playing havoc with Hogwarts?"

"I've been really great—having fun with Blanche over here," Sirius said as he slung an arm under Blanche's and pulled her closer. She looked up at him in annoyance and pushed his arm away. Sirius looked up at Rosmerta with bulging eyes—hoping she'd get the message. "And yes, still laying waste to Hogwarts."

"Lovely, darling! Well listen—if you ever want to lay waste again somewhere else, you know where to find me," she winked at him and walked off back to the bar, leaving Sirius in a defeated slouch.

Blanche cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows, then pursed her lips in the way she did whenever she found something monumentally distasteful. That look could break the hearts of thousands. "That was just—"

In truth, she'd had enough after Rosmerta sauntered over and called her 'sweetheart.' And after she drifted back to the bar, Blanche was—once again—bitterly reminded that Sirius was an accomplished philanderer, and Blanche was—well—a prudish virgin who shied away from most physical contact. In a flicker of typical pessimism, Blanche decided these two types of people could not be meshed into whatever relationship she and Sirius were trying to construct. And as per usual, the thought grew into a virulent weed with vines that confined any open space in her mind.

Blanche piled up her books and gathered them in her arms once again. Then she stood and sighed before releasing: "You're disgusting."

"Blanche—"

"If you ever want me to think you're something more than a bed-hopping, self-obsessed libertine who's incapable of any relationship that doesn't consist of purely mindless shagging and well-disguised self-hatred, I highly recommend you stay out of my sight for a few hours."

The bells at the door rang behind her as she left the Three Broomsticks. Sirius buried his face in his hands. Then the bells rang again, and Blanche was back with a horribly familiar scowl on her pretty pink lips. Sirius stomach churned.

"And _in_ those few hours, I want you to seriously consider what you think you're getting into—because if you haven't noticed, sex is a very foreign concept to me and I don't plan on venturing into that anytime soon. So why don't you determine if your insatiable libido can handle that and come back to me when you realise I'm nothing more to you than a long-awaited page in the sodding shag book under your bed. And _yes—_ I do know about that, you filthy lecher."

Then the bells rang behind her for the last time. Sirius collapsed in his hands once again.

"Was that my fault?" He heard Rosmerta ask nervously. He looked up at her and rubbed his eyes exhaustively.

"You didn't know," he sighed and stood up, watching Blanche Disapparate. He really would like to check on her and ensure she didn't splinch herself… but she'd surely kill him if he wound up in the Forgotten Grounds beside her. Plus, Blanche was not one to splinch herself.

"I just assumed you two were still best friends," Rosmerta frowned. "I'm really sorry. At least you're together now—been in love with one another for long enough."

"To be honest, Rosmerta, I don't even know if we're together," Sirius exhaled, threw some coins on the table in spite of never receiving their drinks, and left the Three Broomsticks.

As much as Sirius wanted to chase after her, he knew that when Blanche asked for space he had to give it to her. Otherwise matters would just descend into absolute calamity. He wandered down High Street before finding himself inside Honeydukes, looking for something to sweeten Blanche's heart.

* * *

Blanche extended a finger to tickle the pale green pear in the painting before her. The fruit giggled and shimmied around before swirling into a tight knot—then out popped a doorknob the same colour as the pear. Blanche opened the painting and stepped into the kitchens.

"Misses Lestrange!" The high-pitched, high-spirited voices chorused when she walked into the kitchens. She looked around to see waves of short, ugly house-elves coming toward her—all adorned in dirty teacloths.

"Hello," she greeted them. One house-elf that she was particularly friendly with, Wibsey, pulled at her robes. Blanche looked down to see her offering her a mound of Eccles cake on a silver platter.

"For the stomach—Misses Lestrange!" Wibsey exclaimed happily. Blanche took it and laughed to herself as Wibsey kept on tugging at her robes. Blanche was unsure what other organ would use the cake.

"Thank you , Wibsey. It's delicious."

"Blanche Lestrange is too nice to lowly house-elves. Wibsey is happy to provide the sweets! It is Wibsey's job!"

"You're not lowly—you're quite noble little folk down here," Blanche took another bite of the cake. "Why don't you all just carry on? I just wanted a place to sit for a bit."

Wibsey and a few other house-elves instantly provided a chair and insisted upon offering Blanche seven more pastries and treats before she forced them to go back to work. As she took a bite of a cream horn, she worried that Sirius may have splinched himself on the way back. She nearly got out her chair at the thought and decided to make the thirty-minute walk back to the Forgotten Grounds, but then convinced herself he was alright. It wasn't a hard Apparition.

Sirius, in fact, had been a major topic of thought in her head the entire walk back. She'd begun to think she'd been too harsh on him, but every time she felt sympathy for him, an image of him in Madam Rosmerta's bed wiped away any pity. She supposed it wasn't his fault for his penchant for casual sex, but she couldn't get the gnawing notion out of her mind that he didn't know what he was getting into with her. Blanche had no plans to consider going beyond kisses—even though she _imagined_ delving into that mysterious world with Sirius quite a lot. And she really hadn't meant what she'd said about her being another 'long-awaited page in Sirius' shag book'—as she'd so harshly put. She knew his feeling went beyond that—the trouble was whether he could survive an indeterminate dry spell.

Wibsey came back over with a new tray full of éclairs, fig rolls, mince pies, and milk-cream strudels. "Wibsey, I really don't need all of this."

"Well—Wibsey can take it back, but Wibsey is more than happy to fill Blanche Lestrange with delicious treaties. Why doesn't Blanche take a tray up to Mister Sirius Black? His favourites are the chouquettes—a tray for Mister Black!"

Before Blanche could even object, Wibsey had run off to prepare the tray. She didn't bother getting up and stopping them, though—Sirius did adore chouquettes. She took an éclair and pushed two milk-cream strudels to save for Sirius—he loved those too. She began accidentally feeling that familiar and newly labeled sensation of 'love' for him. She wanted sincerely to see the grin on his face when he ate the first chouquette, and to see the way his eyes would light up at the sight of the tray. Sirius had a sweet tooth.

When Wibsey delivered the new tray of chouquettes—which was also adorned with chocolate almonds and dollops of whipped cream, Blanche had already sunken into a sea of regret for the way she'd treated Sirius. Even if he didn't know what he was getting into with her, he deserved a chance to try.

She thanked the house-elves and left as they snuck more pastries onto her plate on the way out.

Without the Marauder's Map or the Cloak of Invisibility, it was a rather risky walk to the Gryffindor Tower. Blanche missed Peeves within an inch of her life whilst passing the antechamber to the Great Hall. She safely made it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, however, and entered the Common Room.

Blanche was subconsciously thankful Sirius was sitting on the sofa before the hearth rather than bleeding out in the Forgotten Grounds from a splinch. She watched his untidy head turn around when she entered, and then she stood there with her platter staring at him. Eventually she moved toward him and sat beside him on the sofa, laying the platter in her lap. Sirius reached beneath his robes that were strewn across the floor. He pulled out a rather large, hexagonal box with a lavender bow on it. She felt a smile peek at her lips as she pulled it onto her lap, undoing the bow and pulling the lid off. Within was a massive array of delicate chocolates, nougat chunks, squares of pink coconut ice, diamonds of treacle fudge, toffees, and sugared butterfly wings.

Sirius picked up a chouquette, grinning with a full mouth as he ate it. Blanche picked up a sugared butterfly wing whilst Sirius took a few chocolate almonds.

"Blanche," he said after he swallowed. He had a smear of chocolate on his lower lip. "It seems you've grievously misinterpreted what you are to me."

She reached out to wipe away the chocolate on him, leaving her finger to hover at the pink corners of his lips. She then looked away and picked up a piece of pink coconut ice. It melted on her tongue in a cool burst of tropical flavour.

"Alright," she answered. Sirius felt doubt in her voice, but wasn't sure how to show her the way he felt.

"Blanche?" He asked, eating another chouquette. She looked to him curiously. "Why did you say sex was about 'well-disguised self-hatred'?"

Blanche looked at her tray of sweets and fought an urge to walk away in her inability to answer. But she tried—for him: "That's just what I think it is sometimes. Is it something else?"

"That depends. But why self-hatred?"

"I don't know," she forced a laugh and shrugged. "Making yourself feel better with another person… because you can't do it alone, I suppose. I was angry, Sirius—you know better than anyone that you can't take any of that legitimately."

Sirius nodded slowly, thinking on her words. Did he shag girls to make himself feel better? Because he couldn't do it himself? "I have something I want to show you."

"What?" She asked and followed suit when he stood up. He didn't answer her—only walked toward the boys' dormitory. Hesitantly, she followed him up the stairs. Their staircase was not protected like that of the girls' was; no boy they knew was going to complain about a girl walking into their bedrooms. Regardless, Blanche had never been there.

He peaked inside his room to see the status of his roommates—all tucked in and sleeping. He gestured her into the room and she tiptoed in. Blanche wished it were lighter in the room so she could see it—mainly the designated area belonging to Sirius. She managed to see a Muggle motorcycle magazine beside the bed and a few cutouts of girls from the magazines—not much different from those he hung in his room at 12 Grimmauld Place. More noticeable were the pictures of his friends plastered to the wall—many of them photos of her. Each was charmed to move, and Blanche watched herself dance, laugh, spin, and smile.

"Get on the bed," Sirius pointed to the unfolded four-poster behind him. Blanche wasn't sure what he wanted to do but she quickly understood it was either that or wake up the others. She crawled on top of his mattress and sat waiting for him until he'd kicked off his shoes and went in with her. He untied the drapery held to each poster and let them fall around them, so it was only them two within the small, warm, swathed space. Sirius momentarily broke it to reach for something beneath his bed, but soon returned with a thick leather notebook. Its cover was faded and heavily worn, and his initials—S.O.B.—were inscribed in elegant, golden script in the leather.

Before Sirius gave any explanation, he pulled out his wand. "Muffliato," he whispered as he dragged his wand tip in a circle around them. Blanche's heart began to pick up at the reasoning to why he might want no one to hear.

"Isn't that Snivellus' spell?" Blanche whispered.

"You can talk normally," Sirius answered in his full, deep voice. "And yes. He doesn't seem to realise I remember all of the charms and curses he uses on me. Lumos," he cast and the end of his wand illuminated.

"What do you want to show me?" She asked.

"The _shag book,_ " he answered, opening it up. Then he put it in her hands after nervously expelling a short breath. Blanche read the title and date of the first page— _Lucinda Crowes, 17 October 1973._

"Well, congratulations. Are you trying to upset me?" She asked him harshly, setting down the journal.

"No. Keep flipping through," he urged, putting the journal back in her hands. She sighed in irritation as she began to flip—many of the pages were blank, or just inscribed with a name or date with not much else. Some of them were free of ink. In the centre of the journal was an increased thickness in page. The binding instantly flipped to this section. Blanche saw her own name titling the page.

Right beneath the title was a picture that was taped onto the page—it was the first photo they'd ever taken together, she recalled. Remus had taken it with the Canon camera he'd gotten for Christmas in his Second Year. They were standing beside one another—hardly teenagers with their childlike faces. They both fawned over a toad in Blanche's hands they named Mulciber in honour of the cruel, overweight Slytherin they shared a mutual hatred for.

"Oh, I remember that," Blanche laughed. "And later I put it in the sleeves of his robes and he screamed like a little girl in front of all Potions class."

"And who did Slughorn give detention for it?"

Blanche rolled her eyes and remembered: " _You,_ because you're an honourable gentleman and volunteered for the lady," she laughed and looked at the picture beneath it. It was she and Lily in their gowns from Third Year Ball. Blanche had gone with Sirius—who she'd gone with to nearly every ball since—and Lily had gone with Bertram Aubrey, a Hufflepuff in their year.

"That dress," Blanche scowled at the frilly blue dress with the sweetheart neckline she'd worn. "What was I thinking?"

"Are you kidding? You looked incredible in that dress," Sirius fought.

"I don't think so," she shook her head. The next image was much more recent—it was Blanche and Sirius dancing at the Evanses on Christmas. In the moving picture, he spun her around under his arm and broke into laughter when she nearly fell on the polished, wooden floor. "How'd you get this?"

"I sent an owl to Lily's mom. She sent all of them from that night to me," Sirius answered, flipping to the next page to pull out a stocky stack of photographs. He'd charmed every one so it moved in the moment. Behind Rose's pictures from Christmas, there was stacks of others from many years passed—Blanche and Sirius playing chess at one of the infamous Pureblood balls, Blanche atop Sirius' shoulders as they tried 'hillwalking' one Easter Holiday, Blanche wearing the tiara Lily had given her for Christmas several years ago, Blanche dangling a rat (really Peter) from its tail in front of the fire, Sirius sleeping on Blanche's lap after a party in celebration of Gryffindor winning the Inter-House Cup, Blanche sleeping on Sirius' lap after one of his birthday parties in the Common Room, Blanche and Lily standing stiffly beside Slughorn at a Slug Club dinner, several other balls Sirius and Blanche attended together, pictures from the Three Broomsticks and other pubs they shared a Butterbeer at, Blanche sleeping in Sirius' bed at his new flat during Christmas break…

"What—you think you're just another blank page to me?" Sirius asked as she laughed at a photograph of Sirius giving her a piggyback ride between classes during Fifth Year—he'd lost a bet to her. Next to that was an image of Sirius and Blanche practicing their secret handshake from Fourth Year.

Blanche looked at him and felt unintentional tears well at her eyes. She looked back to a picture of them holding hands in Sirius' bed at his flat—she had no idea who'd taken it. "I'm sorry… I don't know why I'd say that."

She picked up the stack of photos and held them to her heart over her button-up blouse, trying to keep them as close to her as she could. It struck her then—for perhaps the first _real_ time ever—that it would all be over come June. These would all only be photographs—pieces of evidence for a different time that existed only in her memory.

"It's alright," Sirius forgave her, and she knew she had a lot more apologising to do.

"I didn't know you had all of these," she spoke with a sniffle.

"I've always had them. I don't even really use this book anymore, aside from using it as a place to keep the pictures."

Blanche flipped through the pages now that the stack was removed—she came across one that she scowled at. It was her, her mother, and her father standing stiffly in a line. They were at some event her father had organised. They were in the ballroom at Lestrange Grange, and Blanche was quite sure Walburga Black had insisted this photograph be taken.

"Why on earth would you keep this?" Blanche asked in disgust, pressing her nail deeply into the unsmiling face of Rabastan Lestrange. She wanted to vomit at the sight of his arm icily perched around her shoulder in the picture.

"Because, it's funny," he chuckled. "You see how you look over to the right of the camera just… there," he pointed out.

"Sure."

"That's because I'd made Erimentha Malfoy's ears the size of potatoes," he reminded her. "I suppose it's an odd photo to keep, but it makes me feel like I've always been there to cheer you up—even when things were especially hard. I try to make you happy."

Blanche felt a few drops of water roll down her cheek and sneak toward the corners of her mouth. It was true—he always had been. He'd never stopped trying to make her happy and lighten up the world as much as he could. Even when she fought it, he'd never stopped.

"I love you," she told him again, although it had been a while since she'd said it.

"I love you too," he answered then smiled widely. "If you haven't already noticed…" he gestured to the photographs of her that overflowed his book. She leant in and placed a kiss on his lips, allowing him to direct their mouths. His hands reached to encase her jaw in a soft grip and she reached for his shoulders—lightly holding them under her trembling hands. He moved in an unassuming manner against her—cautious but endearing.

Every time the sorrows pushed into her mind with a voracious appetite for happiness, Blanche tightened her grasp on Sirius' shirt and concentrated on _him,_ not her. Because if she thought about herself she'd fall into that familiar web of self-loathing and guilt, and it would all be a ruin. So she only thought of him.

As Sirius brushed her bottom lip with his tongue, she pulled him down so her neck found a place in his pillow. The scent of his shampoo overwhelmed her—in fact all of her senses felt overwhelmed as his tongue touched hers and their mouths entwined in their first true kiss. Sirius let out a light rumble of reaction when she tentatively began to delve into him; one of Blanche's hands fumbled with a few loose coils of soft, dark hair whilst the other slid upward to his neck.

He never tried to push her any further than that, but when she began to emit small groans and tapered whimpers it was impossible for him to stay physically at ease. He pulled away from her when he realised he was solid as an oar and only gave her a chaste kiss to her nose.

"What's wrong?" She asked in a recovering voice. She was quite enjoying the sensation he could work out of her with his expert tongue, adroit hands, and deft lips. She didn't know if she wanted more than that, but she didn't see why he'd pulled away.

With any other girl, Sirius would have made a move to grind his arousal into her or make some sort of indication that he was willing—or at least thinking about—going farther than mouths. But he wouldn't scare her away, and he wouldn't push her into anything without her verbal confirmation. "It's nothing."

"What do you mean it's nothing?" She asked quietly, closing in on his lips so hers moved against his when she spoke.

"I just really adore you," he answered slowly. "And I'd kiss you for days if it didn't mean getting a painfully present hard-on."

"Oh," she pulled away. Sirius watched a wisp of a prideful smile line her lips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Stop it," he laughed lightly, kissing her forehead. "I can keep on."

"I wish you were a virgin," she softly admitted as she looked down at his throat and the Adam's Apple which shifted there.

"You make me wish I was too," he answered with a toothy grin. "But you wouldn't be too impressed with the results, I don't think."

"Oh, it's alright," she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. He held her there with his own lips for some amount of time both were unsure of—all they seemed to know was one another and the dark world the poster-hangings made for them. Eventually she pulled away, satisfied with the burst of affection he'd just presented to her, and yawned.

"Do you want to sleep here?" He asked her boldly, picking up a few stray photos that'd been lost in their snogging.

"What about them?" She gestured to Remus, James, and Peter.

"They won't open the curtains," he assured her. "If you want me to, I can set an alarm in the early morning and walk you back to the girls' dormitory… Or at least as far as I can make it without being electrocuted."

"That charm has been lifted," she informed him. He looked at her with surprise. "Lily set it up to prevent James from riffling through her things and sneaking in on her changing… Not really necessary anymore, is it?"

"How did I not know this?"

"It's recent," she answered. "So you can set an alarm at six and walk me back, alright?"

Sirius grinned widely and nodded, charming the bed to wake him at the designated time. He sunk his arms around her and pulled her up so her considerably lighter body rested across his torso. He snuck kisses and caresses as they went through a few photos they'd missed earlier, and Sirius eventually slipped away to sleep as she brushed her fingers through his curled hair. When he began to mumble incoherently about a flower and a house-elf, she also fell asleep.


	12. Date-Night Dancing

**Sorry for the late update everyone! Also, I know this may be confusing as it actually comes before the last chapter I posted. I've been re-reading and editing a lot of the story-which is quite long now (I have almost 200k words written, so this is far from over!). My editing has included adding in a bit of fluff and extra plot lines, and this chapter is certainly one of the former. I know a lot of you asked for more fluff and day-to-day stuff in the comments (plus I love writing this stuff), so hope this makes you all happy (-: I'll try to have the next chapter up sooner rather than later. As always, please comment, like, and follow!**

 **Best,**

 **Alisson**

* * *

 _Early May, 1978_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"Discover the azimuth and altitude of Tethys at exactly 17:24 this evening, then convert these figures into their Cartesian components using the correct formulae. Upon finishing this task, explain the importance of the rectangulus to spherical trigonometry regarding astronomical bodies," Sirius read aloud whilst Blanche played with the torquetum on their large desk. They were partway through the three-hour N.E.W.T.-level astronomy lab they had every Thursday evening, and were not making a lot of progress.

"I'm usually quite fond of maths. But there is something about astronomy that simply… bores me," Blanche sighed. The light of the golden hour stretched through the tall windows and scattered amber rays across their desk. Lily and James were the only two others of their close friends who took N.E.W.T. Astronomy, and one desk in front of them Lily was scribbling digits upon a piece of parchment whilst James basked in the warm light. It seemed most of the class wasn't going to be putting in the effort they did in the Tuesday morning lab, but the professor didn't care much. He spent most of their evening lab preparing his various telescopes, astrolabes, and like instruments for the moment the sun went down.

"Remember when Astronomy was just drawing star charts of the Milky Way?" Sirius reminisced.

"I do," she replied, sinking into her seat. Sirius looped a hand around part of her chair and dragged her closer to him to he could lay his head on her shoulder and pretend to go to sleep. "Would you stop?" She laughed, squirming out of his grip playfully. He locked an arm around her shoulders and pushed a kiss onto her temple.

"Want to do something tonight?" He enquired, playing with one hand at the seam of her shirt.

"That question means absolutely nothing. We do things every night."

Then Lily, out of absolutely nowhere, jolted up from her diligent work and spun around, causing James to startle out of his almost-sleep. "Double date!" She cried.

"Absolutely not—" Blanch began.

"Not happening," Sirius said simultaneously. "Do you remember when you tried to do that with Holly? How disastrously that went?"

"Yeah, but that was with Holly. This time it's with Blanche," she argued, adding vocal flare to her best friend's name.

"I don't understand how this is any different from last Friday. We four went to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer without calling it a 'double date'," Blanche sighed and looked at Sirius. "Looks like we can't go out with those two anymore without dragging along the rat or the wolf. Pity."

"That wasn't a double date, Blanche," Lily said. "This will be different. We can even go to Edinburgh!"

At this, both Blanche, Sirius, and James straightened their backs and raised their brow in attention. Lily was never one to suggest leaving the close confines they were kept in throughout the school year. However, the other three took any opportunity they could to escape for just an evening. Plus, Edinburgh was coming back to life this time of the year.

"You actually bring up a fascinating point, Lily—one which you are going to regret very shortly," Blanche smiled sinisterly at Lily, whose grin dropped from her face.

"Why—"

"— _Because,_ in Edinburgh, there is a brand new restaurant that has not yet even opened to the Muggle world, although it will be by Halloween of next year."

"Well, what's wrong with that? Which restaurant is it?"

"The Witchery by the Castle," she grinned.

"Wait, I read about that in the Prophet. It's right by the castle, right? I thought that was an inn?"

"Yes, it also is an inn," her grin grew.

Lily hesitated, watching the smiles rise on her boyfriend's and Sirius' lips. "We _can't_ do a whole night away from Hogwarts, Blanche!"

"This was _your_ suggestion, Lil."

"I just wanted to go to the cinema then maybe get dinner! _Superman_ won't be in theatres for much longer. It's about a flying Muggle!"

"Well, maybe we can see that as well. Look—compromise. Then we have dinner, drinks, go about town, then stay in a five-star inn whose eight suites are decorated with Gothic paneling and tapestries rescued from the fires at St Giles. I'm tired of these stiff, single beds. We all deserve a night of luxury."

James audible cleared his throat, catching Lily's attention. She looked at him expectantly as he raised his brow. Without getting the response he was looking for, her opened his mouth: "I would enjoy a night of _romance._ With a _big bed."_

"Oh, Blanchette, is that why you've suggested this?" Sirius piped up, pinching her arm as she leaned away from him to escape.

That actually was not the reason to why she'd suggested it—she just liked having breaks from the restricted grounds of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. She hoped she hadn't planted any expectations in Sirius' mind with the suggestion, although she didn't dislike the idea of it. Ever since their first shared night in his unavoidably narrow bed, the physical element of their relationship had gained importance. Initially she had been difficult both privately and publicly—like slipping a thread through a needle's eye. But now it was just in public that she twisted under his hands and danced circles around him. In private, she had warmed to the feel of his hands on her waist and hips and the touch of his lips on her neck. _Perhaps a big bed would be nice,_ she thought. As long as he didn't expect anything.

James and Lily were quietly arguing whilst Blanche was absently studying the hand belonging to Sirius which tapped along her knee. She looked up to him and met his eyes, seeing a cheeky ear-to-ear grin had found his lips.

"Don't get your hopes up," she said lowly so the others could not hear. "That's _not_ why I suggested it."

"I don't know. Candlelit sixteenth-century inn named in honour of the thousands of witches accused by Muggles on Castlehill? That sounds like someplace you can really get in touch with your feminine wiles. You know, let out the sorceress hidden _deep inside._ "

Blanche couldn't help but laugh at this, although she shook her head whilst doing it.

"I'm playing. I won't touch you if you ask. Better yet, I'll reserve a cot."

"No, I don't want that," she instantly replied, causing his brow to raise in boyish interest. "Oh, will you stop? It's like—what's that Muggle idiom—oh! Walking on eggshells. Except the eggshells are your inescapably persistent sexual innuendos and crude interpretations."

"Welcome to my world."

"Alright, fine!" Lily's exhausted exclamation parted their private conversation. James silently rejoiced and caught Sirius' eye, communicating something nonverbally about the prospect of his next Friday evening. "We will go. But bright and early the next day we're coming back—no exceptions."

"I accept these terms," James announced. They all agreed.

* * *

By the next evening, Blanche had sent Sulwen to the Witchery, alerting them of their necessity for their two largest rooms looking out at the castle. With the help of Sirius' surname, Sulwen had already returned with a notice of availability made for the upcoming guests. After spending the morning, midday, and early afternoon on classes and schoolwork, the girls were in the ladies' toilet getting ready by four in the evening.

"You know, there _are_ charms that curl your hair for the evening," Blanche commented as she carefully picked Lily's hot rollers out her orange hair with her nails. She'd nearly burned herself twice—the outdated set had been first bought by Petunia in '68 and Lily had inherited the thoroughly-used rollers when Petunia got a new set for Christmas three years ago.

"Those curls always fall out. Hair-curling is one of the very few arenas in which Muggle technology surpasses that of the Wizarding world."

"Well, they're all out," Blanche said as she finished, sliding the last smoking roller into its case with her varnished fingertips. "Come on now, let's do your make up."

As they sat before the mirror, Blanche carefully pencilled Lily's pale brows. "Now how do you want your eye-shadow?" She enquired.

"Try and do it like Debbie Harry, with the smokey eyes. James would like that—he thinks she's so fit," Lily replied.

"He also thinks _you're_ fit. Maybe you don't need that much."

"Not all of us look like you, Blanche," she retorted. "Plus, tonight's a big night. You know, with it being a special overnight and all. James bought a bottle of Swiss elderflower wine… Are you and Sirius doing anything special?" Lily asked tentatively. The hesitation and raised pitch of her voice clearly indicated she was looking for juicy bits of information to surely share later with James.

"Stop trying to weasel answers out of me, Lily. You know it doesn't work."

"I'm just curious, Blanche," she whined. "Did you suggest the spot so you could have a bit of fun with Sirius behind closed doors?"

"No, I did not. I merely thought it all sounded fun. _All_ being the whole night out, you know. Not just having a private room."

"Sure…" Lily hummed, causing Blanche to roll her eyes.

"I swear!"

"Sure."

Not far from where Lily and Blanche were finishing getting ready, Sirius and James were waiting patiently in the Common Room, preparing themselves for the evening with bottles of Hog's Head Brew and bragging to the rest of the Gryffindor boys about their evening.

"Yeah, then after dinner we'll probably go up to our rooms for a bit of fun with our ladies. I got elderflower wine from Switzerland to drink before… and after."

"A surprisingly suave move on your part, Prongs."

"Thank you. And what about you, Padfoot? Any grand gestures planned? Presenting yourself naked on a bed of rose petals?"

"Ha-ha," Sirius punched James lightly on the arm. "And no. I reckon Blanche isn't one for grand gestures."

"I don't think she likes any gestures," another Seventh Year chimed in. He was another one of the many who'd tried and failed to sweep her off her feet in the past few years.

"Because you would know so well, Scotty?" Sirius retorted at the boy.

"Trust me, if anyone knows how to woo Blanche, it's Sirius," James came to his defence, although there was a layer of doubt in James' voice. It had taken Sirius six years to pin down Blanche, after all.

The girls arrived to the Common Room not much later and slipped out into the halls before anyone could loudly comment upon and take note of their evening wear. Blanche wore a short crimson dress with bishop sleeves and a low neck; Lily a pale lilac one which clung to her curves but flared at the knee.

The four of them made it under James' cloak to the Forgotten Grounds—which Lily highly disapproved of—and Apparated to the cinema in Edinburgh. Blanche, James, and Sirius particularly enjoyed observing this element of Muggle life which they hadn't ever seen before. None of the three could believe why any Muggle would eat salty popcorn _and_ sweet candy at the same time. Nonetheless, Sirius indulged in as many sweets as he could get a hold of: bottle caps that fizzed in your mouth, fresh peppermint patties, chocolate eggs full of cream, pop rocks that cracked like embers on your tongue, and sour lemon balls.

"Honestly, some of those candies were quite impressive for being made without magic. Especially the Pop Rocks," Sirius gushed over dinner.

"Not as impressive as the _movie—_ wasn't it incredible?" Lily responded, leaning eagerly over her bowl of French onion soup.

"I don't get it. Muggles can't fly at all—not even with brooms! And yet this silly Clark Kent can go about without anything? I don't understand it," Blanche commented after taking a sip of her wine. "However, I do like Marlon Brando. He was quite good in… Sirius, what's that one you made me watch in Fourth Year?"

"Just _The Godfather,_ only the best Muggle movie ever made."

"You should really watch him in _The Wild One,_ Blanche. Trust me. He was quite handsome back in the day."

"I'd rather watch James Dean in _Rebel Without a Cause._ I don't much enjoy Muggle cinema—or any for that matter—but I will overlook that to see James Dean," she answered.

"Oh, he's such a square. I don't know why all the girls are so in love with him. Any guy can fluff up his hair and pop his collar. Musicians are much better looking. What about Mick Jagger?" Sirius countered

"Oh, I _love_ him," Blanche sighed. "Or at least how he looked ten years ago. I like him and—who are the other ones, Sirius?"

"Jimmy Page and David Gilmour," he filled in for her.

"And George Harrison, he's always been very handsome."

"Hmm…" James announced, humming against his lips. "I'm sensing… a type. Tall boys with long dark hair. Interesting."

"I don't have _a type,"_ she argued.

"Wait, why didn't I realise this before?" Sirius announced, gears turning in his mind.

"That's true," Lily added. "And Blanche has always thought you were cute, Sirius."

" _Cute?"_ He raised his brow in offence towards Blanche. She rolled her eyes and shoved him a bit, but saw he needed further explanation.

"Do I really need to validate what hundreds of witches—and a few wizards, for that matter—have made perfectly clear in the past five years?" Blanche responded sharply to Sirius' expression. In the silence that followed, she rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I find you very handsome, Sirius. Have you looked in a mirror? You shouldn't need my verbal confirmation to know that you're beautiful. I mean, Merlin, you look a love child of Mick Jagger and James Dean. So you should stop knocking the latter."

Sirius looked out across the table with a face-splitting grin.

* * *

After dinner, the four went to a nightclub. Or more specifically, a disco club. Blanche, Sirius, and James were all too sober to fully enjoy themselves alongside the tracks of the Bee Gees and Donna Summer. But Lily, a true queen of the coloured lights, was dancing the night away. After all, she played the _Saturday Night Fever_ soundtrack most days of the week. James—reluctantly dancing beside her—didn't have the same depth in Muggle music that she did, but occasionally dabbled in the softer of rocks: Rod Stewart, Cat Stevens, and Elton John—all artists thoroughly made fun of by Sirius. Sirius himself preferred the Sex Pistols, Black Sabbath, Jeff Beck, the Clash, and even psychedelics like Hendrix to anything. Blanche was possibly the least aware of Muggle music, but she did know she liked Led Zeppelin and that she didn't like disco very much.

Despite all this, they sold packs of cigarettes at the bar and made very big drinks, so within two hours Blanche was dancing whilst Lily pointed to her singing poorly and loudly: "You are the dancing queen! Young and sweet, only seventeen!" Because she was, after all, the only seventeen year-old left among them.

Blanche collapsed soon after on the hard club sofas beside Sirius and put her half-smoked cigarette in the remainder of the olive juice in her martini glass. She then asked: "Can you dance, Sirius? Can you jive? And can you have the time of your life?"

She could see by how low his lids were that he was just as drunk as her. He had the goofiest but handsomest look on his face when he was drunk, she always thought: a toothy smile from ear to ear, sleepy eyes, and coloured cheeks.

"Do you really want to see me jive?" He slowly answered, a laugh coming breathily at the end of the question.

"Maybe not," she giggled. Her laughter began slow then grew hysterical. "I'm so high."

"High?" Sirius asked, raising his brow. He leaned in to look at the whites of her eyes and finding them indeed pink.

"Yeah, what did you think was being passed around to us on the dance floor?" She leaned in and inspected his own eyes.

His lips formed a small 'O' and he nodded slowly then smiled. "That explains."

A cosmopolitan she ordered at the bar was delivered before her and the waiter removed the cigarette-stubbed drink she'd abandoned.

"That's perhaps the girliest thing I've ever seen you drink. All my old girlfriends drank those," he commented.

"Do you really want to have a drunken conversation about _all your old girlfriends?"_ She mimicked him, taking a sip. "Plus, you know I like sweet things when I'm drunk."

"Like me?" His grin seemed to somehow widen.

"Yes," she hissed, leaning in to kiss him. He nearly missed her lips, but did secure himself there, humming into the pomegranate-and-vodka taste of her mouth. She tangled a hand into his hair, fastening herself onto him whilst she blindly put the drink on the table. Half of it spilled on her hand, but she managed to push it from the edge and place a sticky hand on his cheek. His tongue idly explored her mouth, prodding her own and infusing it with the taste of gin from his drink.

" _Okay,_ maybe it's time to go back to the hotel!" Lily's voice rang out after some unknown stretch of time. Although she'd danced the most, she seemed the least drunk as she dragged a half-aware James on her shoulder. Blanche parted unsteadily from Sirius and nearly fell from her seat in surprise, then brought a hand to wipe the evidence from her lips. "I swear—all this one would do was rave about having our own hotel room, and here he is: so drunk he could be a sponsor for whiskey-dick."

Sirius laughed very loudly, clapping his hand on the table so it shook. Whenever Lily got tipsy, bolder statements tended to leave her mouth. And Sirius loved it, but James did not.

"Hey!" James cried. "You're in for a _long_ and _hard—_ "

"For all of our sakes, don't lie James," Sirius chuckled.

"What's whiskey-dick?" Blanche hiccoughed.

"Oh, my sweet—" Sirius sighed and played with her, bemused by her innocence as always, although she swatted his petting hand away.

"When a guy drinks so much that he can't… You know!" Lily cried, trying to stand James up on his own.

" _Oh,_ I see, _"_ Blanche replied.

"I don't get whiskey-dick!" James cried.

"Even I get it, James. Everyone does," Sirius clarified, sinking against the sofa.

"Lily, take me back so I can teach you a lesson," James petulantly insisted.

"The fact that you can't get back on your own is certainly proving my point," Lily replied. "But come on, let's go. I assume Sirius and Blanche want to leave too."

"Why do you assume that?" Blanche answered haughtily.

"Maybe because you two have been snogging on the sofa in full view of everyone for the past twenty minutes?" Lily sarcastically responded before realising her attitude and covering her mouth. "See? I'm clearly too drunk. I'm being so mean!"

" _Twenty minutes?_ Merlin, my perception of time…" Blanche's eyes widened. "We do need to get back."

The walk back was thankfully sobering. The wind drew cold pricks to their eyes and wakened them beneath their coats. Even Sirius' arm tightly wrapped around Blanche couldn't warm her. Her teeth only stopped chattering when they reached their still fire-lit hotel room and collapsed on the floor. Sirius tuned a radio with uncooperative fingers and Blanche lay down beside him, digging her forehead into his collarbone.

"So, what's this one about?" Blanche asked Sirius about the music on the radio, partly attentively and partly drunkenly.

"I don't know, why don't you listen and tell me?" He responded, turning the nob of the radio which heightened the volume.

Blanche listened silently, then raised a brow at what she did believe she heard. "Wiley, windy moors… I hated you, I loved you, too," she spoke allowed. "Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights! No way, Sirius! Is that what she's really singing?"

"Heathcliff, it's me. I'm Cathy—I've come home, I'm so cold, let me in through you window," he repeated. "What do you think?"

"These Muggles…" She giggled, listening more before changing the station once again. "Okay, and this one? It sounds familiar."

"Ugh, ABBA. Let's not listen to this crap."

"Oh! It must have been on at the club tonight! What's it called?" She asked. He hesitated in thought upon answering.

"The Name of the Game. Released last year, I believe," he responded, then switched the radio once more.

"Oh, you've played me this before—I know it! Who's it by?  
"It's Barracuda by Heart, the band of sisters Ann and Nancy Wilson. This song is actually quite a funny story. Some American label and reporter went about spouting that these two sisters were incestuous, and they responded with this song."

Blanche listened to it until the song faded and the base sunk into radio silence. "A heavy metal band of two sisters? Isn't that unusual?" She spoke over the Muggle radio host.

"Yeah, a bit," he sighed. "They're American—sometimes they do things different there. _Although_ they were first popular in Canada because the background guys in the band were draft dodgers."

"What's that?"

"Do you know what the draft is?" He asked her, to which she shook her head. "It's a Muggle thing. Whenever there's a war that's particularly bad, the draft begins. Based on random numbers and birthdays, it forces boys over eighteen to be drafted into the war. It's quite horrible, actually—ruins a lot of the men who actually manage to come back. Thankfully, wizards have found ways of slithering out of the Muggle government's fist in these matters. It's quite rare that we become at all involved in these things. But regardless, it's a sad reality for Muggle men. And draft dodgers are the pussies who run off to another country to avoid it."

A slower song announced—a song in a genre Blanche rarely heard on the radio. It began with the light trickle of harp, but not in a classical manner; these strings were brushed leisurely and faded into a steady drum.

"You're so clever, Sirius," she smiled warmly at him, reaching towards him to touch his cheek then forehead, then to brush back the curls that had dripped over his forehead.

 _I guess I'll always feel the same. Love is strange… Ah—P.S. I love you, baby._ The lyrics warmed her heart. "Who's this by, then?" She enquired.

"I don't know. I'm not very familiar with R-n-B."

"What's that?"

"Rhythm and blues," he answered, reaching to touch her hand which sat upon his chest.

"I like it," she responded slowly. She had opened one of the windows and cool gusts of breeze brushed their skin delicately. In spite of its low temperature, she felt a warm crackling inside of her stomach—ignited there with the fuel of music and liquor. She leaned down on the Turkish carpet upon which Sirius lay, using his outstretched arm as a pillow for her head. From there, she could see the high reach of the castle's towers into the night sky, whose slots of window sparked with the amber light of torches.

But Blanche yawned, which caused him to get to his knees and pick her up gently, then lift her onto the wide bed. She kicked off her heels and let them drop to the floor, then clenched the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, leaving her in her knickers and the pale slip she wore over them. She stood temporarily to hang up her dress and put it in the closet. Sirius watched her closely as he took off his own shoes, caught between two distractions: if he could take off any further articles of clothing and the sight of her dark hair falling down her pale back, lying on top of the figure-caressing silk of her slip.

She notably avoided his eyes when she climbed back in bed, but eventually caught his when he remained standing by the bed. She allowed a silvery laugh to come to her lips in spite of her own nervousness. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to invite me into your bed," he answered flirtatiously and smiling crookedly.

"It's our bed, Sirius. Or better yet, it's yours. You paid for the room," she replied giggling, then reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. His fingers began fidgeting with the sheets in unconscious enchantment with the sight of all of it. The slip she wore outlined every lift of skin, and it was quite cold in the room with the open windows, after all. "So you're still restraining yourself?"

"I'm being gentlemanly—how my mother raised me."

"Well, we wouldn't want to disappoint Walburga. Why don't you wait a bit longer, then," Blanche sighed. The Daily Prophet sat on her bedside table and she opened it casually, aloofly ignoring his waiting presence. And yet he keenly noticed her fingers move across her body beneath the thin sheets. They didn't physically indulge her by any means—she certainly wasn't brave enough to do _that_ in front of him, but sort of traced the contours of her figure and played with the hems of her garments in the mindless way one might do before bed. And Sirius was well aware it was all intentional.

"I reckon I've set an expectation of manners accidentally—manners I have no intention of truly abiding by."

"And yet you're still outside the bed," she answered, keeping herself behind the paper so she could surely hide a wide smile.

"I'm trying to be gentlemanly."

"I'm not here, sharing a bed with you, because you're a gentleman—which you are not, by the way. And if you're going to ask for permission to do things to me, my modesty requires I deny you. So I'd recommend you start making decisions right about now."

With that, Sirius undid his belt and pushed his trousers to the ground. He kicked off his socks and removed his sweater—albeit keeping on the grey t-shirt he wore under it, throwing them all in a pile on the floor before quickly crawling into bed. He reached up and crumbled her paper with one hand then threw it onto the ground, proceeding to drag her down and under him whilst she laughed wildly.

Amidst the mirth of the moment, Blanche recognised—although just barely—that she was comfortable beneath him on the bed. She wasn't frightened nor exceedingly nervous, and wasn't even hesitant like she had been the first time he held her body beneath his and spoiled her face with kisses. And so she lifted her waist so his forearm could slip under it and bring her body upwards towards his, and she even eventually pushed him onto his back and draped herself across him.

Sirius' left hand had gently found itself on the curve of her bottom whilst the other comfortably sat at her waist, his thumb just skimming the bottom of her breast. The sensation of someone's hand other than her own shortened Blanche's breath in her throat, and she was altogether distracted by the mingled sensations in her mouth and at her breast that she did not realise the hardness growing against her midsection. She proceeded mindlessly—caught in a kiss like any young woman could be—and leaned into his hand at her breast, tacitly permitting his exploration of her chest over her slip. He was gentle in his grip, his thumb running along the peak of her breast that was raised in arousal. When she sunk her sweet lips onto the patch of soft skin beneath his ear, he subconsciously pressed himself up into her hips, causing her lips to detach in shock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he immediately responded, willing his mind to calm.

"It's okay," she answered, pulling upwards to meet his eye. At the sight of her reddened lips, the strap of her dress dropping off her shoulder, and the splotches of bitten love upon her fair neck, he nearly did it again and pulled her down back onto his chest.

But thankfully, he abstained and answered: "We should probably stop. I've already gotten carried away, clearly," he cleared his throat tellingly and looked down at his prominent stiffness between her legs. Releasing his hand that was still on her breast, he dropped his hands to her waist and smoothed the crumbled fabric there.

"But I don't want to stop," she answered hesitantly. He melted into the sheets at the fragile pronouncement of her words, eliciting something between a sigh and a groan. Although he remembered, at that moment, his first few years at Hogwarts, wherein he snogged girls for hours on end and got nowhere farther than their necks. By the time he was fourteen, they began thawing a bit, deciding to complete their 'firsts' with him. By the time he was fifteen and sixteen he'd moved onto older girls who weren't so tentative, but yet he still remembered that first year or two. That was where Blanche was, and it wasn't fair to restrict her because his body was used to having more.

"You're right, and I'm sorry," he agreed, bringing his hand back upwards to her chest and lifting his head to connect their mouths once more. She returned his with equal pressure, digging her hands into his hair and releasing a sigh against his lips. She felt like a delicate flower in his hands, blooming in the night beneath cold wafts of air filtering through the room and the sound of some heavy beat coming from the radio.

Eventually even Blanche had had enough, parting from him after a particularly high-pitched mewl came from the back of her throat and it felt like all the blood in her body had concentrated in just a few collective inches of her body. She collapsed beside him on the sheets and rested a cheek on his shoulder. He dropped his head to look at her, studying her beauty—noticing the exact ways she looked like no one he'd ever seen before. Maybe it was the flakes of violet in her blue eyes, or the exact elegant line of her full lips. He didn't know—he didn't think he'd ever know how to explain just how magnificent she was.

"So Lily said you've always thought I was cute through the years? Is that true?" He eventually asked, causing her lovely eyes to widen.

"It was just that… I don't know—it was a universal truth. You know how girls are, always begging to know what boy you like and who you think is the cutest in your year. And everyone would always say you, and I couldn't disagree with them obviously because that would just be an objective falsehood. But when Lily would really lay into me about getting a boyfriend, and I'd say: 'Then who, Lil?' She's always say you. And I'd reply: 'Well, I'd be mad not to say he's handsome but he's _Sirius.'_ And she'd fight me for some fifteen minutes until I'd stop responding and she'd shut up."

"What does _'he's Sirius,'_ even mean?" He replied, chuckling.

"I think you know," Blanche replied, turning onto her back. "I've turned you down enough times for you to know what my argument against you is… Or _was,_ I suppose."

"Did you ever think of me in any other way? Even before we become friends in Second Year? Did you know of me?"

"Obviously I knew of the Blacks. My father just about drilled it into my head that I had to get my hands on one before I even got to school. And I had seen you around a bit, mostly chasing after Snivellus and laughing about with Potter. I sort of thought you were an ass," she laughed.

"An ass?!"

"You were so outspoken and righteous and cheeky. I don't know. I clearly didn't judge you too harshly, seeing where we are right now."

"I suppose," he replied with a reluctant sigh. "Do you want to know my first thoughts of you?" She nodded. "You were quite quiet everywhere but the classroom. And in class you were constantly answering teachers and sometimes even correcting them, but I just thought it was cute. I remember you catching my eye a couple of times in the halls, though. You were hard not to see."

"Mmm… You're sweet," she hummed against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Her nails dugs into it and scraped gently, feeling the hard planes of his chest. "You know what I want you to do now?" She asked coquettishly, causing his body to tense excitedly and lift itself partially onto his elbows.

"What?"

She chuckled into his arm then flung herself onto her back. "For you to order room service! Crème brûlée and French toast!"

"Yeah, because you're baked," he laughed, but picked up the telephone and ordered two of each. "Lucky for you, I am too."


	13. Skin-Deep Satisfaction

_Mid May, 1978_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

The weeks before N.E.W.T.s were dwindling down, and classwork was piling on top of Blanche like snow fallen over valleys victim to avalanche. She and Lily were the first to begin genuinely suffering, as they both took a number of extremely strenuous classes. Sirius did too, but he somehow achieved equally superb grades whilst doing half the amount of work they did. Nowadays even Lily's inexhaustible cheeriness—which could weather nearly every storm—was faltering as she protested the amount of work.

Blanche had woken at dawn on a Friday morning to finish homework upon which she'd fallen asleep the night prior. In six hours, she had to have another foot of an essay on the properties of slug brains, five inches about the internally combative natures of the Killing Curse, four pages worth of Crux-oriented latitude calculations for locations the planet Neptune, a perfect sample of an impossible antivenin, and a refreshed knowledge of Summoning Charms. None of these things would be particularly hard, but it was a lot. And to make matters even more difficult, the final Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw was in a week and a half, meaning Blanche had to often attend the rainy May practices and listen to Sirius complain about them whenever _she_ wasn't complaining about the work load.

The playful tapping of rain against the windows made Blanche feel colder, so she made a fire with a flick of her wand. Her stomach began to growl after not much time, but she figured the house-elves wouldn't have finished breakfast yet. _Well,_ she thought, _they probably have finished, but it's really a matter of whether the doors to the Great Hall are open._

By the time she finished her final inch on slug brains, Blanche was sleepily sitting under a band of morning sunlight ripening through the window. As the sun peeked into the sky, Lily was up and walking down the girls' dormitory stairs. She typically rose with the sun during the school week.

"You're up early," she greeted with a smile. "Were you with Sirius?"

"The only thing I held whilst sleeping last night was _Spellman's Syllabary,"_ she grumbled. "I forced Sirius to leave me be last night when he wouldn't quit griping about that other Beater, Broadmoor."

"I see," Lily nodded, sitting down before the fire. "I can't tell what is more frustrating—the Quidditch or the homework. James has been a right mess lately."

"They've all been a right mess lately… all because of Mulciber screwing them in the game. I should really curse him individually with something _nightmarish,_ " Blanche brainstormed. "Like the Disintegration Curse…"

"Blanche!" Lily cried, shooting upwards and spinning around.

"What? I'm losing sleep over this!"

"You're _not_ using that. If you need to do something, shrivel his ears or remove his hair, but don't do anything that will get you in real trouble."

"Real trouble? What's this?" Blanche heard Sirius' voice in the boys' stairwell. Although he wore his uniform (poorly albeit—as his tie was loose and his sweater untucked), his face was still fresh with sleep and a yawn contorted his handsome features. His lengthening hair was tanged in curls that fell to his neck. It was a particularly early rise for him, but these days he liked to wake early to complete work with (or more like distract) Blanche in her morning studies.

"Blanche is threatening to use the Disintegration Curse on Mulciber," Lily informed him bitterly.

"It's _not_ like he doesn't deserve it," she retorted.

"Oh, young Blanche," he sighed, collapsing on the couch beside her. "So much anger."

"Come off it, Sirius," she spat back, irritated by the smug grin on his face.

"You're _not_ using that curse, Blanche. Promise me you won't?"

Blanche screwed her lips into a scowl and she looked angrily at the fire.

"Someone's in a foul mood today, isn't she?" Sirius laughed, causing Blanche to slap him on the head. "Ow!"

"I promise I won't curse Mulciber with the Disintegration Curse—even though he thoroughly deserves it," she mumbled through her scowl after Lily glared at her expectantly.

Sirius, Lily, and Blanche waited until Remus, Peter, and James trotted downstairs sleepily. The days of including Lily's other friends—Holly, Olympia, and Kyra—were long over. The coupling of James and Lily as well as Blanche and Sirius had solidified everyone's idea of what the group of friends consisted of—Blanche, Sirius, Remus, Lily, Peter, and James.

At breakfast, the Great Hall's ceiling brewed something sour. Black clouds churned and rumbled with lightning ready to strike, and a silvery rain fell and faded into the atmosphere. When everyone sat down, their plates were adorned with foods of their choosing: back bacon, link sausage, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, porridge, poached eggs, hash browns, and potato cakes. A row of buttered toast was presented before them in a rack, all amongst puddles of jams, marmalades, jellies, and conserves.

"Moony, look—it's Penelope Poke," Sirius whispered across the table and knocked his knuckles against Remus' giddily. Remus jolted in his seat and Blanche swore she'd never seen his wise façade so shattered. She watched his Adam's Apple bob in nervousness and his cheeks ripen to a pale pink.

"Who's Penelope Poke?" Blanche asked, and Remus immediately shushed her harshly.

"Sixth Year Remus is in love with," Sirius answered.

"What house?"

"Hufflepuff," James replied.

"Where is she?" Blanche asked, following Remus' eyes across the Hall to the Hufflepuff table.

"Don't make it so obvious, Blanche!" Remus argued in a voice she had never before heard—it was almost petulant.

"Tall brunette," James helped Blanche find her.

"With the lovely rack," Sirius added. Blanche rolled her eyes before they swept across the Hufflepuff table. She found a full-chested, attractive girl with amber brown hair and a flush of freckles across her nose. Blanche had noticed her before, but never bothered to pay attention to her. She paid her greater notice as she thought of her own particularly small chest in comparison to that belonging to Penelope Poke, looking down at her blouse disappointedly. Sirius sometimes unthinkingly said things like this—it was a relic of their platonic relationship.

"I see," she commented, clearing her head of any insecurities. "I can't believe Remus is interested in someone."

"I'm _not,"_ Remus clarified. "I just made the mistake of telling Sirius I found her attractive."

"I'd say I could talk to her for you, but I'm really not the ideal fit for making those sort of connections. I would bet on Lily," she informed him, looking to the smiling Head Girl who was already considering getting up to go greet Penelope.

"No!" Remus cried, shooting out of his seat before she could fully stand. "I'm not interested in anything beyond… appreciative observation."

"Well, there's no benefit to that, Remus," James commented with a scoff, taking a large bite of toast.

"What should I do then, do you reckon? Harass her until she curses me with the bogies?" Remus snarked in response—Blanche was surprised to ever seen him lose his cool like he was in the face of Penelope Poke. She remembered the time Lily had cursed James with the bogies in Sixth Year; interestingly enough, it hadn't been long before she began accepting him as a romantic interest.

"Say all you'd like, Moony, but it did work, didn't it?" James enquired snidely, curling a hand around Lily's shoulders. She varnished his toast with mandarin marmalade as he did, smiling girlishly.

"It's not like that. I don't want to be involved with her at any capacity," Remus clarified stiffly, opting to focus on his sausages instead.

"Fine then," Sirius sighed. Blanche felt him fasten himself upon her shoulder. In the past few weeks, Sirius and Blanche had accidentally made a greater display of public affection. As per usual, they reacted belligerently whenever anyone publicly asked questions: Sirius only answered the questions of the Marauders—and only when they were behind closed doors; Blanche never answered anyone's questions, not even Lily's. However, slivers of their evolving relationship could be seen in small gestures such as these: his arm around her shoulder, her offering of buttered toast to him, his sleepy yet euphoric smile in acceptance, then leaning into her ear to tell her something that would nearly make her spit out her tea in laughter.

The Owl Postal Service flooded in to Remus' great relief, and letters descended from the sky in low swoops of feathers. The paper owls delivering the _Daily Prophet_ strategically delivered papers to the Seventh Years of all houses before all the other years. They never squawked impatiently to the Seventh Years like they did to the students in all their preceding years.

Blanche, Sirius, and Remus were the only ones to receive the _Daily Prophet_ and Blanche was quickest to drop one knut into the leg pouch of the owl who delivered her papers. She unrolled the paper and was faced with a disturbing yet familiar enchanted image of a green skull projecting into the sky. A snake jumped from its open jaw in the image and curled around the stars.

MURDER BY THE MARK:

MUGGLEBORN WIZARD AND FAMILY DEAD

ON 6 MAY 1977, wizards and witches of Camborne, Cornwall

were awoken by a cry and a crash as rebels cast the Dark Mark

into the sky after the murder of their most recent victims.

The unfortunate recipients of what Department of Magical

Law Enforcement insiders report as the Killing Curse were

the Clarke family, a muggle family with two daughters—one

squib and one witch. In the early May misery, all four members

of the family were pronounced dead upon law enforcement's

arrival. The family included Marcus Clarke, 49, Marie Clarke,

45, Aurelia Clarke, 18, and Miranda Clarke, 15. This is a most

unfortunate loss for the Wizarding world and Hogwarts School

of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where young Aurelia Clarke was

studying. This mass murder is just one of many over the past…

A scream ripped through the Great Hall; it became obvious to Blanche that someone had gotten a hold of the _Daily Prophet_ before she had. Another racking sob rolled across the Hall and several teachers stood from their chairs to do something about the students; Blanche couldn't tell if they knew about the Clarkes or not.

"What is it?" Lily leant across the table in curiosity. "What has everyone crying?"

Sirius unrolled his newspaper and his eyes skimmed across the main story on the first page. Blanche felt his grip upon her shoulder tighten. "Death Eaters have killed another family," Sirius informed Lily gravely. James snatched up Remus' paper and read.

"Oh no. Who?" Lily enquired.

"The Clarkes," Blanche answered. "The family of Aurelia Clarke."

"How horrible!" Lily cried, tightening her grip on her spoon. "Is that why she isn't here?"

"No, she was killed too," Sirius told her. This news seemed to affect Lily drastically, as she transformed into a teary-eyed catastrophe. James held her tightly as Remus stood to look across the Hall—searching for Aurelia's friends at the Ravenclaw table. She'd had a tight-knit group of friends in her house through all her years at Hogwarts; there were sure to be some broken hearts in the Hall.

"Why are we all just now hearing about this?" Blanche asked the table.

"Dumbledore has been gone the past few days," Peter informed her.

"That's true. He's probably been dealing with that," James commented as he held Lily closely against his chest.

"But the teachers must have known. Why haven't they mentioned it?" Sirius asked. Peter and James shrugged their shoulders.

"Merlin, I can't believe this," Blanche shook her head mournfully.

Sirius opened his mouth but was interrupted by the sound of the doors to the Great Hall opening behind a pale blue-cloaked figure. Remus—still standing—informed the rest it was Dumbledore. "Reckon he's back to explain now."

Blanche leant forward on her hands to get a better view of Dumbledore as he quickly crossed the paths between the parted tables. The headmaster carried a rushed look in the blue of his eyes. He was before the podium with his wand to his bearded throat in moments, and Blanche noted he moved very quickly for a man nearing one hundred years old.

"Students," his voice boomed with the Amplifying Charm. Blanche watched all the heads of Hogwarts turn from their copies of the _Daily Prophet_ and look at their headmaster. "I assume many of you have just now received the paper and now know what horrific tragedy has befallen a student here and her family. To those who are not yet aware: a Seventh Year Ravenclaw named Aurelia Clarke has been murdered by the Dark Lord and his servants, the Death Eaters."

A chorus of gasps ran through the crowds of students at his words. Even Professor Sprout jolted in her seat at the news.

"My most sincere grievances go to Aurelia's friends and classmates—" Dumbledore said but was interrupted by a muffled wail of one of Aurelia's closest friends. "When a life is dashed, especially so prematurely, there is no true remedy for the loss; all we can do is remember Aurelia and keep her in our hearts, thereby honouring her in death. And to those that knew her family—keep them with you as well…

To those that never had the pleasure of meeting her—she was an extraordinary young witch. Her thirst for knowledge was known amongst all teachers. More often than not she could be found pouring over books in the library. Her greatest strength was her learning, and her greatest passion dragons. She'd planned on going to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary in just a few short months following her graduation. As you can imagine, she was very courageous as well… In fact, she was a Hatstall—the Sorting Hat could not decide whether her bravery outweighed her thirst for knowledge. Some Seventh Years and professors here may remember that she asked aloud: 'Is this a _true_ Hatstall or just a near one? I've read about both—the former's really rare, isn't it?'"

Students almost laughed to themselves before realising the context in which they were laughing. Dumbledore had a way of inadvertently persuading those around him to forget the world around them.

"After that, the Hat was sure— _Ravenclaw!_ In that way, Aurelia had a way of making even the tensest situations lighter. It's an incredible ability to have, really… Many of her friends I'm sure would attest to this, which is why we'll be holding a service tomorrow afternoon for her. Classes for today will be canceled in order to allow students to process the loss of their classmate. I do not mean to make this anything else than a merciless murder, but I urge you to let this serve as a reminder of the fragile balance of our world. None of us are only pure of blood or impure of blood, as none of us are only dark or light."

—

Lily and Blanche had attempted to make use of their extra weekend day by catching up on their homework, but neither seemed interested in focusing on anything like schoolwork. Death had a way of making mundane tasks ceaselessly trivial; exams and class attendance suddenly felt like ghosts hovering over palpable objects echoing death and life, good and bad, love and hate.

While Blanche made a conscious effort to distract herself with library tasks—putting away their books, sorting the good quills from the bad, magically diluting the wells of ink—Lily had taken to staring painfully out of the window. The weather outside seemed to reflect the general mood of the school—dingy, murky, hopeless. Pellets of rain hit the glass windows and made the world around Hogwarts a tearstained, swirling panorama.

"That could've been me," Lily spoke softly when Blanche was nearby, returning Potions books to their rightful spots. She paused her mission to turn her head in Lily's direction. Blanche saw her freckled cheeks were wet again.

"What matters is that it wasn't," Blanche clarified, releasing the spine of a book so it floated up to the highest row.

"But it _could have_ been," Lily repeated. "A muggleborn witch in Seventh year, her squib sister, her Muggle mother and her squib father… It's like blanks were just filled in with different names and I got lucky. That easily could have been me."

"No, it couldn't have," Blanche turned around and looked at her. "Because you're not a Clarke. By no means am I blaming Marcus Clarke, but everyone knows he served as a liaison between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. That's probably why they were targets. Your family keeps quiet. I see no reason to why you'd be considered a target."

"Blanche, you know that I think your levelheadedness is one of your most redeeming qualities, but I don't want to hear you make reason of this right now. I'm horrified right now—so scared I don't even know if I can stay for N.E.W.T.s and graduation—"

"That's exactly what Aurelia did. She went home when she wasn't supposed to and You-Know-Who knew it was the opportune time to knock them all out. You _cannot_ go home. And besides, if you ever want to take a chance at beating this thing, you've got to graduate to get a high-ranking job. Everyone knows in order to make big changes, you've got to be high up," Blanche argued. The words seemed painfully hollow, but there was a cold truth to them.

Lily looked down and her red hair curtained her face, surely hiding an array of features contorted in sorrow. Blanche was not much good at comforting—she needed James to pick up here. "But there's nothing I can do about this fear and guilt. How am I supposed to live with this for however many years it takes to wipe out the Dark Rebellion? What if we never do?"

"Lily, you can't think like that," Blanche said, sitting down in the chair beside her. "You can't feel guilty for what you are. You should always be proud of yourself; being ashamed of it is exactly what You-Know-Who wants. The stronger you are—the prouder you are… It's fighting him. If you want to defend your family, that's how you do it. You never feel guilty for being what you are, and you never fear him, and you never run away from where you're meant to be."

Lily's head nodded. She pushed back her hair to reveal a reddened nose and watery green eyes. A glimmer of hope thrived in the latter though, and her lips softened with a new lightness, even though a separate segment of her mind acknowledged the hypocrisy with which Blanche spoke: she had no pride in where she came from and felt nothing but guilt over what she was. But Lily ignored it, knowing Blanche would never listen. "You're right," she nodded more fervently.

"Yes, I am," Blanche grinned smugly. "Now, where did we leave _Asiatic Anti-Venoms?_ " She enquired.

"Oh, shit—I think I left it back at Potions. I'll go get it," she began to stand up, but Blanche shook her head.

"No, it's alright. I've already done my lab anyway. You get started whilst I get it."

"Thanks, Blanche."

Blanche left the library and headed down the corridor, taking a skinny flight of stairs she had discovered Second Year down to the ground floor's hall of classrooms and courtyard. She entered the courtyard for a breath of fresh air, walking along the cloisters to get to the staircase heading into the dungeons, where Potions Class was. Hardly anyone was out in the open that morning and the courtyard was silent. A mist rolled through the open grounds, obscuring trees less than three metres away from her into veiled ghosts. Not even the air was refreshing like she'd hoped; it only felt wilted and moulded in her mouth.

Breaking through the quiet, Blanche heard footsteps echoing through the cloisters and she turned around to see who it was. The mist shrouded them with anonymity until the were very close to her—four students arranging a diamond around her. Blanche recognised them instantly, they were in her year. Four Ravenclaws who had been the best friends of Aurelia Clarke: Violet Ashby, Nathaniel Humbert, Hester Cloy, and Alistair Weatherstone.

"Yes?" Blanche asked confusedly, perhaps a bit too coldly to those who were grieving. "Can I help you?" She tried to soften her tone. She wasn't sure how to address them.

"Don't you seem fine this morning?" Nathaniel asked sourly. "Being 'pureblood' and that—you probably don't have to worry about your family and friends."

"My best friend is Muggle-born," she informed.

"Who, Lily Evans?" Violet asked with a sharper but more hesitant glare. Blanche had once been assigned partners with her for a semester back in Third Year. She was always sheepish, but Aurelia Clarke had seemed to crack through that shell of hers in their First Year. Blanche hardly ever saw Violet and Aurelia apart. She was probably hurting the most out of them all.

"The only person I ever see you around is Sirius _Black._ You know, heir of the _house of Black,_ the wealthiest and purest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Alistair bit.

"And most deranged," Nathaniel added. Blanche thought to argue that the house of Lestrange could give the Blacks a good run for their money in these regards, but decided to stay quiet.

"I don't think Sirius _Black_ has anything to worry about," Violet perked up. Her eyes—usually a soft doe brown—now seemed black, sitting between brows furrowed in anger. "But the rest of us… We go home to visit a sick family member, and your family _kills us."_

"I'm not a part of my family anymore, my father—"

"Yes, _your father,_ " Nathaniel spat. "Rabastan Lestrange, a Death Eater."

"Yeah, we know about that," Hester piped up. "That Slytherin, Snape—he's been talking to us. Said your dad killed the Clarkes. Apparently that's his job. Combs through the Daily Prophet to find good targets and must have read about Marcus Clarke. That true?"

Blanche's breath halted in her chest. The Daily Prophet… Always right in front of him, in those cigarette-stained, paper-white hands. He spent hours every day raking through the paper, voicing grievances here and there. Finding a Muggleborn or half-blood each day to hate. Now she knew why… _Always reading the Daily Prophet._ Always hunting.

Blanche started, opening her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn't say anything in her defence. She was guilty—she hadn't noticed for all those years. She just now realised; she was a fool. An outsider saw it before Blanche could even think of it.

"So, Snape ratted you out. Looks like you can't keep your ulterior motives to yourself anymore," Violet said.

"And when you graduate, you and Black will follow in your parents' footsteps, I'm sure. Follow You-Know-Who's every command," said Nathaniel.

"I would never—" Blanche started. "Just let me explain."

"You don't get to explain," Hester stated resolutely, pulling out her wand.

"You can't explain to Aurelia, so you can't explain to us," Violet said quietly, taking out her own wand. Blanche could see the sheen of wetness in her eyes—that poor girl had lost her sister. Blanche couldn't imagine losing Lily, and she'd hurt anyone she would even slightly suspect doing it. Perhaps she deserved this. Even if she didn't agree with her father, she was still his daughter. She was still a member of the house of Lestrange, infamous murderers, burglars, and villains obsessed with what your blood was made of—marrying inwards, exploding with stolen wealth, hurting the innocent and vulnerable. And she'd done what she was supposed to, after all: stay silent and couple off with a Black.

"Expulso," Hester cast, knocking Blanche backwards against the wall. Her head thumped against the stone wall, causing a splitting pain to crack through her head.

"Not even going to defend yourself, Lestrange?" Alistair laughed cruelly. But she hadn't taken out her wand and she wasn't going to. Why should she? She didn't deserve the right to protect herself.

"Vermillious!" Nathaniel shouted, sending a jet of sparks her way. Blanche tried to hold on to the wall for support but it wasn't much use.

"Locomotor Wibbly!" Alistair added, causing Blanche to crumble to the ground.

"Snape calls you a pureblood who lost her way," Violet stepped forward. Blanche watched the tendons of her wrist harden as she tightened her grip on her wand, holding it like one would a pen. "And it's funny. You purebloods go around calling everyone names—mudbloods, scumsuckers, mudblood-lovers, blood traitors, dunglickers… But no one seems to ever call you a name."

Violet flicked her wand quickly, and the ebony wood began to glint with a silver spark. Blanche remembered Violet was quite a talented witch—particularly skilled with wordless transfigurations.

Blanche's eyes were teeming with colourless ants from her painful slam against the wall, but she could feel the sleeve of her robe being pushed up to her elbow, and Violet got to her knees to lean over Blanche and hold down her other arm. However, Blanche wasn't interested in putting up much of a fight.

Suddenly a searing pain jolted up her right arm, accompanied with bitter stabs into the soft, tender flesh of the inside of Blanche's forearm. She screamed, but found it quieted by the heavy sleeve of Violet's robe.

"Come on, Vi—" Blanche could hear Alistair's voice warily express concern behind her, but Violet silenced him.

"Her father murdered Aurelia and her entire family because they were ordinary people who had a witch as a daughter," she spoke through gritted teeth. A muffled shriek left Blanche's mouth. "The Lestranges go about branding the Muggleborn with the seal of impurity, and when they say something they're horrifically murdered by _her family._ So why shouldn't she be branded too, if that's what the Wizarding world is about now? If this is the institution she and the Dark Rebellion champion, I say she gets a label too."

Violet seemed to finish her cruel work upon Blanche's arm when she stood up, wiping a small mess of blood from her hands onto her robes. Blanche could feel nothing of the pain as she lay there—ashamed and deserving—within the actual fresh wound, but could sense a swell of blood that had travelled down her wrist, palm, and dropped from the tip of her pointer finger to the ground.

Hester, Alistair, and Nathaniel ran off at the sight of it—clearly sceptical of their sudden leader's violet actions. Violet followed shortly behind, but not before leaving her with a final message: "One day, I pray that is the most depraved of insults."

Before Blanche succumbed to the darkness that shrouded her sight of the misted courtyard, she looked down to her bloodied arm and read: "Pureblood."

—

Sirius was standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, which was empty aside from himself and James, who stood next to him tossing a Bludger between his hands. Both lost in their own thoughts, Sirius himself was swinging his Beater's bat without much effort—his mind was elsewhere.

The gloomy weather seemed to accommodate likewise gloomy thoughts. The air was heavy with mist—not a mist of spring that May was supposed to bring, but instead a sinister mist that seemed to hide secrets. And it _seemed_ like the world was hiding secrets from him. Ever since he lost contact with his family and was effectively emancipated from the house of Black, he felt useless. He couldn't update those who cared with the malevolent plannings of the Dark Forces. His last remaining portal into that life was Regulus, but they certainly weren't on speaking terms. As long as his brother remained silent in the face of Orion and Walburga Black's insanity, Sirius would remain silent with him. Not to mention Sirius had yet to graduate. What help could a student do?

And now with the massacre of the Clarkes… It was all going to shit.

"Mate, this is a fucking nightmare," James seemed to echoed his own thoughts.

"You don't have to tell me."

"I mean—what the fuck is wrong with people?" He sighed loudly. "And Lily will be a right mess about this. I mean, a Muggle family with one witch daughter? You may as well fill in the blanks…"

"Hey, don't say that, Prongs," Sirius affirmed, looking his best friend in the eyes. "You know as well as I do that Aurelia's father wasn't exactly keeping a low profile."

"But it's just a matter of time before they start going after every bloody witch or wizard with a drop of Muggle running through their veins!" James exclaimed.

Sirius shrugged defeatedly—he couldn't find the effort to be any more optimistic. He just wanted to see Blanche, really. She could warm up the day in her paradoxically icy, sarcastic way. However, these days he was finding that he wanted to see her always, regardless of the weather or his mood.

"Where is Lily now?" Sirius enquired.

"With Blanche somewhere. Library probably, knowing those two. I wanted to talk to Lily alone, but Blanche sent me a look that would send the Devil running so I figured they had to have some girl-talk before I could get my foot in."

"Hm," Sirius offhandedly mumbled.

"How's it going between you too?" James asked, even though he was updated by the day.

"Well, you know Blanche," Sirius stated simply. "Cold, withdrawn, harsh, aloof… Ingenious, beautiful, independent, understanding, genuine, sensitive, phenomenally sexy, passionate—"

"I've met her, Sirius. I have also been long acquainted with your undying love for her so settle down. I meant more progress-wise."

Sirius nodded as he stared into the mist. "I feel like I'm in Second Year again," He laughed lightly. "And I've got to say… I'm into it."

"So you're not shagging, and you're into that?" James asked doubtfully, but then changed his tune. "You know what—never mind. That girl could tell you to put on a chastity belt and you would."

"Oh, shut it," Sirius rebuked. "Really though, I'd obviously never make her do anything she didn't want to do. And I think she will want to eventually, but it's a weird, transitory period. Like when you've been best mates for five years, how do you change the way you address one another? How do you ignore all the things you've told them that—you know—you should never, _ever_ tell your girlfriend? Like that you once wanked to a shapely gargoyle in First Year out of lack of access to proper materials?"

James laughed loudly and his voice echoed through the pitch. "I couldn't tell you, Padfoot. Thankfully, Lily hated me up until a few months before we got together."

Sirius pursed his lips and shrugged, taking another swing with his Beater bat at an imaginary Bludger that coasted through the thick air. He pretended to follow the Bludger with his finger, watching it soar into oblivion, but he was interrupted with an echo of rushing wind.

"Sirius!" He heard Peter's perpetually distressed voice sound across the field.

"Yeah?!" Sirius shouted into the air, trying to track his fellow Marauder through the opaque skies.

"You've got to get to the Hospital Wing!" Peter shouted, arriving before him on his broom, carrying Sirius' with him. He threw it at Sirius, who caught it deftly with one hand.

"Why?"

"Blanche was attacked. She's unconscious," Peter informed him breathlessly. And with that, Sirius was gone.

—

Blanche woke up in a stiff bed that kept her tightly confined, as though she were wearing a straight jacket. Struggling to move, she wriggled her left arm out and lifted her torso up, looking around her. _The Hospital Wing?_

To her side, Sirius was slumped over in a chair sleeping restfully. It was clearly late at night, as most of the lights in the infirmary were out and the tall window just above her bed exposed a black night sky.

With her freed hand, Blanche reached out far to try and wake Sirius. The stain of her body against the sheets as she stretched seemed to clutter in her head, and she groaned loudly as she collapsed back onto the pillow.

"Blanche?" Sirius asked groggily, waking unusually easily. Blanche brought her hand up to her temples to rub them in the hopes of alleviating some of the pain. Sirius, fully awake within seconds, got to his knees so he could be right beside her. "How are you feeling?"

"Like proper shit."

"What happened to you? No one's come forth."

"To what?"

"Filch found you in the courtyard cloisters in a pool of your own blood. You were attacked!" Sirius informed her hotly.

With a pain that pulsated through her entire skull, she remembered being thrown up against the stone walls of the classrooms, locked in the legs, and mutilated by the grieving friends of Aurelia Clarke.

"Right," Blanche remembered.

"Who was it then, Blanche?!" He demanded, keeping his voice low but urgent. "I will curse everyone in this school into oblivion until someone comes forth. Were they some Slytherin lowlifes? Christ, and what they wrote—"

"No, it wasn't who you think," she shook her head, exhausted by his passions. She managed to slip her right arm out of the blankets to analyse the recently-realised wounds detailing her inner forearm.

It was wrapped with thick gauze and pins. She reached to undo a pin, wincing as the bandages shifted against her injury, but persisting to entirely unravel it. And—in moments—there is was: Pureblood. Written in the swollen, pink, torn flesh of her arm.

Blanche studied it quietly before looking to Sirius painfully. He slipped a gentled arm under her head and managed to supply her with a soft hug. "Whoever did this to you is going to—"

"Then I won't tell you," she mumbled into his shoulder and he pulled back.

"Why?!" He urged loudly.

"Because I… I'll make the allowance for it. I understand why they did it."

"What the fuck, Blanche?" He questioned harshly, true anger coming to his eyes, which appeared coal grey in the dark infirmary. "How can this be excused?"

Blanche wriggled against the tight confines of her sheets, swearing loudly at the hospital tucking. "Help me."

Sirius sighed and leant back, pulling the sheets free with a tough jolt and allowing her room. She stretched out her arms and looked around, seeing an empty infirmary. She pointed with her unwounded arm to the bed to her right. "Move the divider to that bed's other side and bring the bed over here. They roll," she said, pointing to the small wheels at the metal bed's base.

"Madam Pomfrey will throw a right fit tomorrow morning," Sirius said, but circled the other bed to push it against Blanche's. He positioned the divider close to their newly-double bed.

"She will survive, I'm sure," Blanche quietly answered. Madam Pomfrey was familiar with Blanche's shenanigans and the relatively frequent appearance of victims of her magic in the infirmary. However, she'd always found the clever retort of her charms and hexes a bit funny, albeit naughty.

Sirius climbed in the bed next to her, undoing the sheets and opening his arms for her. "Please tell me who did it," he pled as he held her shoulders, urging her with his eyes.

"I cannot blame the people who did it themselves, their reaction to Aurelia's death was fair. I'm okay that they took it out on me," Blanche informed him slowly.

"What does this have to do with the Clarkes' death?"

"It was her friends. Mainly her best friend, Violet Ashby. You know her—she and Aurelia were like sisters… Like Lily and I. And she thought my family did it, or she _knew_ my family did it, because I'm sure my father was involved," she told him, and watched anger descend like hard rain upon his face. "But you can't blame her! I deserved—"

"You did _not_ deserve this! Your father and you are estranged! You don't even use his last name anymore!" He quieted her.

"I don't care what you think about this—you're not doing anything to Violet or her friends. If you do, I'll be very angry."

Sirius groaned loudly in frustration. "This is absurd. You can't keep all this self-hatred—it's going to kill you!"

Blanche lay on her back, tugging her shoulders from his grip. "I've made my decision," she stated.

"So you're just going to happily fall victim to the whims of anyone who dislikes the Dark Rebellion?" Sirius asked dramatically.

"Sirius," she sat up stiffly, tearing herself away from him. "I said _nothing_ for seventeen years of my life. I'm not blameless. I watched him read the paper all day…"

"The paper?"

"My father is a Death Eater, Sirius. He's You-Know-Who's hunter. He finds the families to kill off."

"A _Death Eater?_ "

"And I've been almost certain of it all these years… I knew, but I never wanted to be sure. And I never said anything," she said, lowering to a whisper and staring into the divider, as though she could see some faintly-clad figure telling her something. "But now I know. Snape said so."

"Snape?! What the fuck does that git have to do with this?"

Blanche sighed, dropping her penetrating gaze and looking at him defeatedly. "He told Violet and the rest of her friends that my father was the one who killed the Clarkes."

"So this is _his_ fault?!" Sirius began heatedly, getting to his knees.

"Stop it, Sirius," she said, trying to hold him down as he stood up, getting out of bed.

"No, I'm not going to stop. That snivelling _wanker_ is going to get what he deserves," he left the bed, picking up his robes. "He went too far this time."

"Sirius!" She tried to shout after him, but he was gone in moments.


	14. The Last Ball (I)

**This chapter, 'The Last Ball,' was particularly long so I had to chop it into 2 parts. So I apologise that this update is on the short side, but I'll try to get the second part up soon!**

 **Alisson**

* * *

 _Early May, 1978_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Most unfortunately for Remus Lupin, the Last Ball fell on the night of a full moon. And as much as Blanche and Lily had been dying for him to get some long-awaited female attention from one Penelope Poke, it was certainly for the best he didn't attend.

"What colour dress are you wearing, Blanche?" Lily asked as the six of them sat around a table at the Three Broomsticks. Sirius sat to her right and Lily to her left—the latter being draped across James on her other side. It seemed like her four Butterbeers were doing the trick. But she deserved it—they'd all been working to the bone lately.

"Well, I was going to wear a black dress. But it's sleeveless, so…" Blanche sighed loudly. It had only been five days since the attack. She was feeling much better; her concussion had been solved with an earthy draught from Madam Pomfrey. However, the writing on her arm had officially sunk into her skin. The nurse had done all she could to close the wound—which she did—but Blanche had been left untouched for too long for it not to scar. It wasn't very noticeable, but Blanche had already become deeply insecure about it.

"Blanche, stop it," Sirius hushed next to her, wiping a frothy line of foam from his upper lip. She hated that the first thing her mind went to was how adorable it was.

"That shouldn't stop you, Blanche," Remus unusually spoke up. Conversations were largely dictated by Sirius and James, with Blanche and Lily closely following. Remus was there for witty commentary and occasionally putting the other three boys back in their places. Rarely did he contribute to a discussion like this. On the other hand, Peter would try to contribute from time to time, but usually these trials were laughed at by the rest of the group. "You've no need to be ashamed of it. We have to live with our scars."

Blanche nodded sullenly, realising the foolishness with which she spoke. She only had some dark pink, discriminatory etching in her arm—whilst Remus had quite a fair deal of scars himself from his curse. According to Sirius, his chest and arms had seen the worst of it.

"You're right, Remus. Thanks," she grinned at him. Although she wanted to follow his knowledge completely, she would still find the scars difficult to expose. Sirius caught the flicker of doubt on her dark brow, and he wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her closer into his side.

"You'll look beautiful no matter what, you know that," he reminded her in a low voice with a grin, as though not to share the delicate words with the rest of the table. "Loveliest thing I've ever seen."

"Stop it," she rolled her eyes, trying to force a smile off her lips. She reached for her drink before her, taking a long sip until the final, golden dregs sat at the bottom. She wanted desperately to plant a kiss on his lips, which were rendered a deep pink by the cheer of alcohol. But she couldn't here, not before her friends. The most affection they ever showed before others was in secret, whispered words, and perhaps a hand and arm drawn across one another's waists or shoulders—and _that_ was a development from how it was earlier on.

There had been an unusual recovery to Sirius' promise of revenge in the hospital wing. Unusual in that it was… too easy. The next morning Sirius had come back around to hear Madam Pomfrey's update on Blanche's injuries. Once the nurse was out of sight, Blanche interrogated Sirius for answers, but he revealed nothing. She spent two days in immense irritation over his silence, but eventually gave in to Sirius' warm embrace on the third day. And now she was just distracted and angry with herself for so poorly holding her grudge against him.

"Do you want me to get you another drink?" Sirius asked, pulling her from her train of thought.

"It's alright, I'm pretty tired. I think I may head back soon," she stated.

"Oh, okay. Let me just finish my pint," he pointed to his half-full glass in front of him.

"No, you stay," she laughed. "It's a Friday night. I was just up all last night practicing my nonverbal jinxes on an apple."

"Well, I don't want to stay out if you're not," he shrugged, bringing his cup to his lips. Blanche barely realised the table had gone silent as she watched Sirius' Adam's apple bob with a large gulp.

"Sirius Orion Black, please repeat yourself!" James shouted from opposite him.

"Fuck off, James," Sirius looked into the distance, realising what he'd said had been heard aloud. He had never been reserved in publicly expressing his love for Blanche, but he had engineered a certain image of himself throughout the years.

"Oh James, leave him be," Lily chimed in as protectress, smiling proudly at Sirius as a mother would her son before his first date. Sirius rolled his eyes, but everyone caught a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Has Blanche been browbeating you into submission, Padfoot?" Peter teased him. "Best y'do ma biddin' lad, er else ye'll get a good braying, seethee?" He mimicked a painfully heavy Yorkshire accent in reference to her origins. Too bad for him, she'd been raised on the cusp of the cusp of high society, so she had nothing but the Queen's Received English.

"I do _not_ sound like that," She fought.

"Shut up, Wormtail," Sirius added.

"At least he has a woman, Peter," James quipped. "Last lassie I recall you having was last year with Jocasta Maple. You know, the one who hit you with the Sardine Hex when you refused to slip her love potion into Sirius' breakfast tea!"

Peter's face bloomed red across his cheeks and forehead, and Sirius chuckled to himself—glad that the negative attention had been shifted elsewhere thanks to James, who gave him a know 'go-ahead' glance toward the pub's front door.

"Want to head out now?" Sirius looked to Blanche, who nodded in response. The two stood and said there goodbyes, with Lily adding a quiet _"have fun"_ when only Blanche could hear.

"Have a good evening, you two!" Rosmerta called from the bar. Sirius raised a hand in acknowledgement before holding the door open for Blanche.

"Bitch," Blanche added quietly.

"Hey, no need to be sour," Sirius laughed and she could see the colour of his breath in the air. Although it was May, the Highlands of Scotland didn't seem to warm up until June.

Before she could defend herself, Sirius leant down and pressed a long kiss to her lips whilst holding her heart-shaped jaw lightly in his hand. When she deepened the kiss, he dug a hand beneath her black peacoat to try and feel the slight curve from her waist to hip.

"I wanted to do that all night," Sirius told her when they broke. She couldn't tell him she felt the same way, but did share a knowing smile with him. "Want to Apparate back?"

Blanche's body was already molten, she at least needed the walk back to cool her down before they were alone again near a bed back in the Gryffindor Tower. "Let's take the long, traditional way back," she urged, to which Sirius groaned reluctantly.

"But I'm dying to get that coat off of you," he tugged at her sleeve as she began walking down High Street.

"Well, you'll have to wait," she teased. He grudgingly followed, keeping a loose hand around her shoulders the entirety of the walk back.

By the time Sirius and Blanche reached the bifurcation pointing to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, their school could be seen in the distance—glittering over the treetops and under a star-clogged sky. The towers reached like stately hands up into the sky, hoping to grab a handful of stardust. They both admired it serenely, completely captured by the beauty they were soon leaving.

"Think Filch is out?" Sirius asked quietly as they slipped into the castle through a largely unknown entrance. The shadows of the dark corridors engulfed them as they made their way to Gryffindor Tower.

"Probably out and about busting Fifth Years for drinking and smoking inside. He'll be too busy," she suspected.

The two quietly walked through the castle's first floor, reaching the first set of stairs safely. But at the sound of footsteps echoing nearby, the two dodged behind the thick, marble railing.

"…Well, I haven't heard anything new from Severus," the heavy voice of an older boy sounded through the Entrance Hall. They appeared to be trying to whisper, but the empty, stone castle operated as an echo chamber for the two. As they reached the bottom of the staircase they turned to descend into the Slytherin Dungeon, but one of the two boys stopped the other. A shard of moonlight fell upon them, and the two were revealed. The one who had spoken earlier was Linus Wilkes, a Fifth Year with a penchant for trouble. And the one who stopped him was none other than Regulus Black, who looked just as much like a watered-down version of Sirius as he did at Blanche's mother's funeral.

"What was the last thing that came through?" Regulus demanded.

"You know what! A time and a place," Wilkes snapped back. "Now stop shouting in the bloody Front Hall. We'll finish this conversation in the Dungeon."

Blanche and Sirius quietly waited until their footsteps faded out of earshot. When they were, Blanche tentatively looked at Sirius, who was frustratedly looking into the distance with his brows knit together in a scowl.

"Sirius—" she began.

"That bastard," he swore. "What the hell were they—"

"Let's go to the the Common Room first," she pled, pulling the sleeve of his coat with her up the staircase.

When they entered their desired destination, it was unsurprisingly alive with teenage debauchery. Several drunken members cheered at their entrance—particularly Sirius', as reigning party king of Gryffindor, but he ignored them and made way for the staircase, where he took stairs two-by-two. Blanche followed behind closely, rushing up with him. When they reached the Seventh Year boys dormitory they thankfully found it empty. A good majority of the boys were still at Hogsmeade, and the remainder were probably enjoying themselves elsewhere.

"Honestly, what do you think we just saw?" Sirius enquired heatedly, tugging off his coat and letting it drop to the ground carelessly.

"I don't know what we saw," Blanche tried, picking up his coat from the ground and hanging it on the end of his bed. "You know your brother takes everything your parents say as gospel. Obviously, he's not behaving _morally,_ but this doesn't mean he's a Death Eater. He's too young anyway!"

"But isn't that the opposite of what you said about your father? That you knew but you didn't want to be sure?" He questioned her.

"You're right," she admitted, realising her contradiction. "But your brother is only sixteen. He may just be a mouthpiece between families now, or maybe he's just trying to get along with the other Slytherins. It's different from my father—he's an adult and he knew the whole time I knew him what he wanted. Regulus, you, and I—we're hardly at the cusp of adulthood. We do dumb things for dumb reasons. I wouldn't jump to accuse your brother of joining the Dark Rebellion."

Sirius had sat down at the edge of his bed and she sat beside him, rubbing a hand across his back. "But he's so… impressionable. Even when we were little I would take advantage of him—make him clean my room, make him take the blame for my blunders, make him lie for me when I wanted to disobey my parents. He has no sense of self."

"Yes, and he's _sixteen._ Do you remember me and you in Fifth Year? And that was only two years ago."

Sirius smiled to himself as her recalled their pranks from another age. "Yes, particularly I remember your frequent and public humiliations of my girlfriends."

"And _now_ I know that I was probably doing that for a reason, and I can admit it—albeit painfully—and only in private to you, that I _may have_ been a little bit jealous," she reasoned, and kept on before he could cheekily comment. "The insight we accumulate over these years in particular is astounding. We can look to months before and critique our every decision. Whether Regulus is on the right or wrong track, he's young enough to be able to jump ship at any time."

Sirius nodded slowly, a content smile sitting on his lips. He reached out for her to unbutton her coat and pushed it to the ground when he finished, subsequently pulling her to the sheets to lay beside her.

"When did you get so wise?" He asked with a wide grin.

"Oh, me? I've always been wise."

Sirius laughed. "That's true. Cleverest thing I've ever met," he said and pulled her in for a soft but sincere kiss. The warmth in her belly that she had left back in Hogsmeade came back instantly, and Blanche squirmed against him.

"Can you close the drapes?" She offered hesitantly, and he nodded, sitting up eagerly to untie the bows that held the curtains to the posters.

"Muffliato," he repeated the now-familiar charm before tucking his wand in his bedside table. When they shared a bed, they most often slept in Sirius', as he knew the other boys wouldn't disturb him as long as he used the silencing charm.

Blanche was already worming beneath the covers when he finished. "Come here," she summoned him. Her voice was like the deadliest of poisons whenever she was electrified like she was in this moment. Her dark hair was a bit messy around her shoulders and her cheeks bloomed the sweetest of pinks. She didn't wear a tie with her button-down as it was a Friday evening and classes were over until the following Monday, and Sirius could see a freckle on her left breast and the indicative swell of supple flesh.

As soon as he lay beside her squished within the slender bed-frame, she pulled him into her embrace and entwined themselves in the only way she yet knew how. The heaviness of her kisses instantly sent Sirius into a wildly excited state, and matters were not helped when she began moving her hands up his chest and back underneath his shirt. And she furthermore made a desperate noise when he failed to realise she was trying to undress him, and he complied by removing it for her. She had seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but she'd never been allowed to truly touch it as she could now. The smooth flesh occasionally printed with black and navy ink was hard and warm beneath her fingers. He was quite thin, and Blanche figured he would be lanky like James if beating the Bludger had not applied a layer of sinew to his bones.

She pulled away to study the new patch of ink where her lips had fallen just below the centre of his collarbones. It was smaller than most of the ones he had—a vertical line with three small, horizontal lines intersecting it.

"Why do you have all of these, Sirius?" She asked, to which he shrugged in response.

"Began with irritating my mother, but then I just kept going," he continued. "You don't have any, right?"

Blanche hesitated but then shook her head. "I like yours, though," she commented, dragging her fingertips across another new addition—the Anglo-Saxon rune Æsc, meaning _ash._ It was large—extending from the bottom of his sternum to several inches above his navel, and done in a dark grey ink.

She sighed and leaned into his pillow, smelling the minty, woodland scent of his shampoo. She yawned loudly and stretched her arms. "We should probably go to sleep. The ball is tomorrow night, and Merlin knows how long that will run."

"Yeah, we should…" Sirius hummed, beginning to toy with her hair. "Or we could stay up for a bit more."

Blanche rolled her eyes and laughed. "Aren't you bored of me already?" She asked, only half-jokingly. Sirius leaned against the pillow next to her and slithered a hand around her bottom and up along the small of her back. She shivered at the sensation.

"What do you mean?"

"Because I won't…do things," she meekly said, then added: "Yet."

"Blanche, how can a girl as beautiful as you be so self-conscious? And here I thought you were aloof all these years…" he wondered. "However small the fraction you want to give me is enough. Do you know what I thought when we kissed for the first time? On my birthday?"

"What?"

"That all the girls I've ever kissed were just in preparation for kissing you, and none of it was enough. So I've been waiting all this time, and even if you want to wait for years I'll be okay with it. Because I've been waiting for years for you already, and I finally have you. I'm never going to back out and 'get bored.' You're going to have to beat me off with a stick if you want that."

Blanche laughed, curling her arms around his waist. "You're horrifically endearing, Sirius," she blushed.

"I know, and you can't tell anyone," he whispered with a wide grin.

"Seems like you've already gone and done that by yourself," she said, referencing to his exposure at the Three Broomsticks. "Now, can you hand me my pyjamas?"

Sirius nodded and reached to the drawer in his bedside table, where a few of Blanche's nightly possessions had collected—including two pairs of silk, button-up pyjama sets. She sat up and began unbuttoning her dress shirt, to which Sirius obediently covered his eyes as she had shyly told him to before. But this time she reached for his hand. "Small fractions," she shrugged.

Sirius watched in wonder as she revealed a laced ivory bra. She stood on the bed to kick off her skirt to reveal matching knickers as well. Sirius couldn't tear his eyes away from the curve of her bottom, the smallness of her waist, the pale flesh of her inner thighs, the delicate roundness of her small but full breasts. For so long he had imagined what she looked like beneath her clothes, and now that he saw he realised it was better than he ever could have imagined.

"Wait, can you turn around—" he began, but she laughed, shaking her head. She slid on her pants and buttoned up her shirt, climbing back underneath the blankets to curl up beside him.

Blanche sighed beside him, burrowing into the pillow to sleep, but Sirius leapt on top of her and nuzzled his face into her neck, causing her to laugh with the tickling of his curled hair upon her chest. "Well now I certainly can't go to sleep!" Sirius exclaimed, ruined for at least an hour by the sight of her nearly-naked form.


	15. The Last Ball (II)

**As promised, here's the second part of "The Last Ball." Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

By the time the orchestra was replaced with a live band, the five were properly pissed, as prescribed by Lily Evans.

Blanche had actually not attempted to incite a rebellion of drunkenness. She was only trying to loosen up the icy armour she found her muscles locked in. She was nervous. The evening before, in Sirius' canopy-drawn bed, Blanche had secretly decided she was going to try to open her mind to the physical intimacy of a relationship. She thought she was ready to take on another territory—though she wasn't sure which territory. If she were completely honest with herself, she didn't really know anything about any territories. Anyways, she figured that the Last Ball would serve as an appropriate time to tell Sirius. But now it was up to her overcoming her own anxieties.

The champagne had oiled her gears, it seemed. She and Sirius were dancing sloppily but sillily, as they once did on their first date—which seemed like just yesterday to her.

"Spin for me!" He looped her arm around, allowing her to whirl in a circle then crash into him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and lay her cheek on his black tie, heaving a deep breath before looking up and opening her mouth to tell him.

"Mate, can you believe this? Last Ball. Do you remember First Ball?" James was suddenly hanging tipsily off of Sirius' shoulder. "I danced with Mary MacDonald and you with that Hufflepuff fitty, what was her name… Zelda Ingress! And you had to leave because you got a—"

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius slurred, stomping through James' laughter. "If I need to remind you, I got around to that later… Fifth year, I think? Not as great as I'd fantasised."

Blanche visibly grimaced. This wasn't an unusual comment for Sirius, and typically Blanche would just roll her eyes, sigh, or make fun of him. But this was perhaps the first time she had been truly stunned by his indelicacy. _Not as great as I fantasised,_ she heard his words repeat themselves in her mind. What if he thought that about her? Why wouldn't he? She would have no idea what she was doing, after all.

Lily was startled herself. She watched the guilt, anger, and confusion contort Blanche's beautiful face. Her catlike, cornflower blue eyes were wide as she looked up to Sirius, still laughing boyishly with James.

"Uhm, Sirius, if you haven't noticed, your—" Lily began, looking between the couple. But she spotted the warm vulnerability in Blanche's eyes ice over and the expression wipe from her face.

"Hey, you two," she alerted James and Sirius, pushing a friendly, unhurt grin to her face. "How about one last big prank before the clock runs out? An endearing reminder of our legacy?"

"Oh, we could shrink all the Ravenclaws to the size of thumbnails!" James suggested eagerly.

"No James, the Quidditch game is in just a couple of days. You'll get disqualified. We can shrink all the Slytherins? Or at least Snivellus' gang?" Blanche proposed, then looked out to the crowd with a furrowed brow. "Speaking of, where is that toerag? I haven't encountered his gloomy presence yet."

"Oh, I've already taken care of all of that," Sirius perked up. James and Blanche both looked to him with confounded faces.

"Which? Snivellus or the prank?" Blanche enquired.

"Both."

"Oh, do tell!" James leaned in even closer. A youthful gleam of thrill rose to the apples of his cheeks.

"So, you know how Snivellus has had those _suspicions_ about Moony, and won't leave the poor man alone?"

"Sure," answered James.

"Well, for a while I've been quietly conversing with Snivellus, telling him that I share his suspicions and that I once tried to follow Remus out late at night but didn't get past the Willow," Sirius explained steadily, his grey eyes taking on a darker shade—but not in the way she liked, when he was beside her and impassioned with warm mouths and scattered hands. They were sinister; she'd seen them turn like this before, but it was usually just before he crossed a boundary. Blanche looked to James and saw the grin had dropped from his face—the smile lines were still fresh in his cheeks. "So, I told him how to get in and that I saw Moony heading out there earlier today."

James was silent for a moment, and so was Lily and Blanche. Then he spoke: "You did _what?_ " James shouted over the blaring band.

"I sent Snivellus out to Remus."

"But he's locked up transforming in there!" James refuted.

"Serves him right after what he did to Blanche."

Blanche's brow knitted together in an uncomfortable array of confusion. Initially, she was angry with his lack of general decorum and awareness. For that, her decision to physically expand their relationship was already faltering. Furthermore, he had lied and kept her out of his wicked manoeuvrings—which he never did—and, even worse, under the pretence of avenging her attack.

 _If anyone isn't ready, it's him._

The thought came to her as James erupted in anger, barely constrained by Lily. And Sirius, exceedingly self-protective in his drunkenness, fought back.

"Did you know about this?!" James eventually turned to her, pointing a finger in her face.

"Don't you say anything to her—" Sirius started.

"Excuse me, but I can speak for myself," she irately and loudly interrupted, looking coldly at Sirius then turning back to her inquisitor. "And I can _also_ exact retribution myself for others' actions against me, _OR_ choose not to—which is what I did! So to answer your question, James, no—I had zero knowledge of this impenetrable folly. Thus, get your fucking hand out of my fucking face!"

James startled, lowering his hand until Lily grabbed it and pulled it back for him. The grate of her inflamed voice seemed to lower the tempers of both the boys.

"Now, seeing you two are the only Animagi worth a single knut in this place, why don't you go save Snape's life and—which should be _even more important_ to you egomaniacal pricks—any self-respect and dignity your best friend will have left for himself after he tears apart an innocent student!"

Both the boys paused, staring moon-eyed at Blanche, until Lily slapped them both on the arms and shouted: "Go, you numbskulls!"

* * *

In the Prefects' Bathroom, Lily and Blanche sat along the side of the frothing pool of a tub with their feet tickling the water. Their dresses were pulled up around their thighs and they shared a bottle of stolen champagne. They had decided to leave the Last Ball early at Lily's prompting—she could see the muddle of emotion in Blanche's features, no matter how unfeeling she insisted they appear.

"I don't know why Sirius would do something like that," Blanche commented, shaking her head, breaking through the sea-salted songs the mermaid in the window sang.

"He's impulsive when it comes to you… Short-sighted. But it's only because he loves you," Lily offered. "Contrary to his frequent lack of romantic tact."

"What do you mean?" Blanche looked to her, taking a swig from the bottle.

"Talking about another girl like that in front of you," Lily shook her head. "It's tactless and coarse. Maybe he could say that before, but not now."

"I never really thought about it before, but it makes me sad," Blanche quietly confessed, but kept her sorrow far from her face. Lily could only just see it in the blues of her eyes. "What if he thinks I'm like that? 'Not as great as he fantasised?'" She sheepishly repeated.

Lily wasn't sure how to answer at first. Blanche was a lot more sensitive than she ever let on, and she took what the people closest to her said to heart—every word of it. And now that Sirius was closer than ever, his each and every word would have the gravity of the Earth to her. So Lily selected delicately.

"Blanche, Sirius has always been in love with you. You have no idea how much he's loved you over the years—"

"Oh, I always knew," she rolled her eyes, and Lily could tell she was losing her.

"No, you didn't know everything. You never saw the way he stared at you when you weren't looking, you never heard him defend you when you weren't there… Remember when Peter had that nasty black eye last year and said it was from getting hit in the face with a Bludger at Quidditch tryouts? That was from Sirius when Peter made some snarky comment about you at breakfast," Lily informed her, causing Blanche's cool features to melt minutely. "And James tells me whenever Sirius keeps he and Remus up all night, trying to figure you out. And he tells me whenever he's miserable over something he's done to hurt you, and how he doesn't eat or sleep or laugh or fool around at all when he is. And I bet you he feels that way right now."

"But that's my point!" Blanche exclaimed. "His expectations are so high! He thinks so much of me… What if I let him down? It's not like I'll have any idea what I'm doing anyways…"

"You literally cannot let him down. You're not his fantasy, he believes you're the love of his life!" Lily let it slip. Perhaps the champagne had loosened her lips too much. James had made her promise she would not confess the exacts of Sirius' spilt confessions.

But what really sent a jolt through Lily's heart was her reaction. Blanche just familiarly kept staring into the boiled-over water, dragging her fingertips in circles above it. Perhaps if she caught Lily's face she'd know it was something to react to, but it seemed Blanche already knew what Lily had said. Had he told her that before? Or did she just know… Did she believe it too?

"And because of that," Lily recovered, thankful the gasp had stayed behind her lips. "You will never do anything but exceed his expectations every time."

Blanche looked up from the bubbles finally, looking at Lily adoringly. "Thanks, Lil."

Lily raised her champagne glass and Blanche quickly matched her. "Here's to Hogwarts?" She offered, and Blanche nodded.

"Thank you for having us for seven whole years!" She shouted as though to address the entirety of the school. Lily giggled drunkenly. "I know I irritated your professors, scared all your students, and broke all your rules, but you kept me anyway!"

"Cheers to Hogwarts!"

"To Hogwarts!"

The mermaid's song spiralled loudly to contest their voices.

"Here's to it," the familiar voice of James Potter sounded from behind them. Lily spun around in shock and saw her boyfriend beside Sirius Black, who was looking rather the worse for the wear. James was scruffy, but Sirius was a wreck. His dress shirt was torn and the sleeve of his suit jacket was close to coming off. His face and neck were painted with dirt and two long, crimson scrapes danced across his neck and forehead, leaving his right eye to catch the blood.

"Merlin's beard!" Lily shouted and stood, rushing over to them. She took Sirius' face between her hands like she would a messy toddler's. "Was it bad?"

"Not ideal," Sirius said in a gruff voice, trying to escape Lily's grip and look over her shoulder at Blanche, who still sat by the side of the pool but was turned around.

"Snape was almost in the shack. Sirius held Moony off whilst I did quite a tricky memory charm on Snape. He can't remember a thing," James informed the rest, before adding irately: "Though Remus will…"

"I'll talk to him. It's my problem," Sirius brushed him off.

"You better, or else he'll be even more of a sodding mope than he already is," James sighed. "Lily, let's go. I'm tired as shit. Plus we need to tell Peter what happened."

Lily turned to give Blanche one last hopeful smile before heading off with James. When they were gone, Blanche stood and took a towel, dipping it minimally in the water. She went back to where Sirius now sat along the ridge of the pool. The mermaid's song had slowed to a melancholy melody in a minor chord.

"Let me see," she sighed, raising the towel to his face. But Sirius first engulfed her in a hug that was still cold from the outside air. He buried his bruised and bloodied face into the curve of her neck and kept her in a constricting hug, trapping her small waist between his forearms.

"Blanche," he said desperately into her neck.

"Sirius," she answered. He pulled away eventually, guiltily looking at his hands as he placed them on his lap. Blanche raised the cloth again and smudged away a streak of mud that ran from his eye to his jaw. "You know what, just undress."

"What?" Sirius peeped up.

"Get in the water. It will be easier to clean you. You're a right mess."

Sirius lazily pulled off his tie and threw it onto the ground behind him, then made a pile with his suit jacket. He eventually got to his knees then stood, kicking off his shoes and socks and removing his belt. Whilst he removed his shirt and trousers, Blanche went to turn on three of the faucets to warm the water and reinvigorate the layer of colourful, glistening bubbles that sat on top of it. She then went for and opened her black minaudière, which thankfully had a tub of her endlessly useful Butterfly Weed Balm in it. She smiled minutely to herself, remembering the way Sirius seemed to melt when she had once rubbed it into his sore shoulders. He'd begged for it again and again since, but she had been saving it. It looked like now she was going to have to use it.

Sirius had his thumbs shamelessly hooked around the band of his briefs, but Blanche stopped him. "Wait, let me see your cuts."

Sirius raised his chin to the ceiling so she could examine the tear in his skin. It thankfully wasn't deep enough to cut into his carotid artery. It was just a superficial wound. She applied the balm cautiously, eliciting a chuckling sigh from his mouth.

"Merlin, I love that stuff," he grinned widely.

"Your eye now," she directed, and he lowered his chin and pushed back his hair to expose the full wound. This one was deeper. "Could leave a faint scar," she commented thoughtfully. She smoothed a glob of the silken ointment across the injury. As she rubbed it in, he placed his hands gently on her hips.

"Now get in the water," she ordered, detaching herself from his light grip. She turned around so as not to see him naked and eventually heard him splash around in the water. He dove under and reemerged by the time she turned around, his hair appearing dark and mildly straight for once as it was weighed down by the water. Blanche repositioned herself along the water's edge and bundled her dress around her hips. She gestured for him to come closer so she could wipe the grime from his face with the towel.

"Are you angry with me, Blanche?" He eventually asked softly when she dipped the dirtied towel back under a gently-trickling tap of creamy, sudsy water that smelled of lavender.

"No," she eventually answered. She sighed. "I'm just disappointed."

Blanche hesitantly looked into Sirius' eyes to see they were wide and panicked. The grey of his eyes raged like a sea beneath storm clouds, white-capped and brewing with fear. He looked truly scared, and he fumbled with her kneecap unknowingly—completely unsure what to do and how to gain back her trust.

"Is this over then?" He asked, and his eyes were slightly wetting. She'd never seen him cry once in his life.

"What?" Blanche asked, brows knit together. "Over?"

"Between us?"

"No!" She cried, kicking his chest with her foot. "No! I don't want that!"

"But you said you're disappointed…"

"And?" She enquired. "What, do you want to just give up after one try?"

The mournful sheen in his eyes transformed into that of mirth. "Really?" He asked. "But whenever I do anything bad, the girl usually buggers off and…"

"Well, am I like every other girl to you?" She asked, and he fervently shook his head. "Then why do you assume I'd end this? Plus, I've seen you do a lot worse, Sirius."

A loud breath left his mouth as he placed his cheeks between her knees. "Thank God," he eventually mumbled. Then he locked his hands behind her knees and tried to pull her into the water.

"Sirius!"

"I miss you and I want a kiss," he pled, but she pushed him back once more with her toes.

"I haven't forgiven you completely," she forced herself to say it. The last thing she wanted to do was set a precedent of overlooking his flaws, in spite of how painfully loving and handsome he was. "You shouldn't have done what you did. It really made me question the decisions you make."

"I did it for you, though," he tried to warrant his action.

"I don't care. It was foolish of you," she stated solidly. "And you lied to me. Or at least withheld information. When have we ever not told each other everything? You've lost some of my trust, Sirius."

"But how do I get it back?" He begged. The mermaid's sad song came to an end, and she disappeared within the waves of her window.

"I don't know."


End file.
